written when I was a very young woman
Spring: The earth awakens from a long silent sleep,
as if born anew.
A baby is born and begins to grow -- to live.
Summer: The earth is wide-awake, lovely with beckoning adventure
The child has grown to youthful maturity.
He laughs, loves and becomes.
Autumn: The earth's beauty and ambition begins to fail,
though it desperately tries to keep them.
The child is not a child now, but has reached middle age.
The time hastens and he begins to lose his beauty and
strength of youth.
Winter: The earth dies away again, to be born anew come spring.
The man dies and is laid to rest eternally in the bosom of the earth.
Never more will he see and smell the freshness of spring, the gaiety of summer, nor the faltering of autumn. Only the still, restfulness of winter.