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Spring is
the infant
whose warm breath breathes
life into kaleidoscopic daffodils,
azaleas and roses;
whose gentle touch
arouses the viridity
of fields
and restores the robin’s song.

Summer is
the playful child, painting my back
with sunshine as water
embraces my toes,
ebbing like a game of keep away.
The child,
Summer, smiles brightness
upon the earth.
The child, Summer, is carefree.

Autumn is
the inevitable
aging adult.
The falling leaves
are the disappearing
hairs on the head
of the middle aged man.
The naked,
bent branches are limbs becoming
ever so much more
aware of the absence
of the child’s warmth
and the aching
brought on by the cool air.

Winter sees death,
the entombing
of vegetation beneath
cold, white tarpaulins.
The biting, bitter breath
is insufferable
for elderly,
decaying Winter.
The frigid wind
breaks branches
and limbs
with the ease of exhalation.
Winter is driven into shelter,
warmed by the fires of the womb.

COPYRIGHT 2001 by Michael Bonanno
LOC Reg. #TXu 988-155

Reproduction of “Warmth” or
any part therein without
the express written
consent of Michael
Bonanno, is prohibited,
unless the reproduction
meets The Copyright Act
“fair use” doctrine, (title 17, U. S. Code).

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