Four
Four distinct patrons oversee the place I call home,
Each with their own set of principles
They’re personalities shape the course of our lives as they enter,
Each one bringing it’s own joys
The first of these brings days the sun beats down upon our skin,
Warming us to our very cores
It brings raspberry stained hands,
And the creak of an old branch,
Giving little by little,
While a child swings back and forth below
The second brings beautiful transformation
Brilliant reds, oranges, yellows
Cider spilt on jackets,
And early mornings for steamy breaths waiting for the school bus
Afternoons are for laying in the leaf piles,
While we laugh at the sky
The third of these brings snow forts that tower miles high
Sparkling white mountains,
And red tipped noses
Hot chocolate that warms from the inside,
Fires that meet halfway
Wool sweaters to capture it all
The fourth, and last, brings wet earth,
An unmistakeable smell particular to the bloom of wildflowers
It brings green buds,
Small blossoms,
L i f e
I would never trade for more or less of each of these four,
Each one a perfect balance of the others
These four overlook my home,
Guiding its residents,
With their miraculous works
Four ever overturning rulers,
Making life the complex beautiful thing that it is