Where does it all go?
The time

Whispered playfully by Spring
In rosen buds

Dismissed outright by Summer
So boisterous and interminable

Then, declared proudly by Autumn
With a flash of orange and bite
In the air.

We quiver in our heavy coats
As the white rolls in.
September
You are nothing but the start
Of a long, long tunnel.

And we ask the trees, the grass, the puddles
Who line up so dutifully
To have snowy uniforms adorned,
"Where does it all go
the time?"

Ah well
We all just learn to cope
I suppose
Lemonade from lemons
Or perhaps
Lemon slushies