Counting the weeks, just twenty in line
Autumn's embrace, a chill in the air,
A long winter ahead, a burden to bear.
Counting the weeks, just twenty in line,
Until springtime whispers, a promise divine.
Contemplating the hues of a somber day,
Gray skies loom, daylight in disarray.
Gloomy sunrises, somnolent sunsets,
Forests in slumber, fields silhouette.
Beneath the cold grasp of winter's hold,
A longing for warmth, a story untold.
Dying whispers in the frosty air,
Yet, through it all, a resilient flair.
But summer, oh summer, a distant dream,
In the quiet moments, a silent scream.
Yearning for sun-kissed, golden beams,
To shatter the frost, awaken the streams.
So, as winter lingers, and spring takes its cue,
In the cocoon of seasons, anticipation grew.
For in every frost, a hope we'd glean,
A countdown to summer, in reverie we lean.