It's hard to gauge the seasons here,
Time blurs, it seems, most every year,
And locals learn, 'tis eyes and ear
That-only-makes the seasons clear.
In Summer, oh, the temps do climb,
And Autumn, we get chills part-time;
Does snow mean that it's Winter time?
And Spring brings shades of fern and lime?
No, there is no guide to apply,
No paper, source, or rule to try.
But with a weary, weathered eye
One can deduce from colored sky.
So, when the light streams through the panes,
And early nightfall finally strains,
(Despite the weathers' wax and wanes)
Conclude that Spring is what remains.
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