I woke up to the rain.

It sung stories of the old.

Of when fall came, and left.

Of when Winter,

In his biting cold-

In his bitter whiting wonder,

Came.

And left.

The stories of the four

Banded brothers

Strung on the reigns

Sung by the rain

Sang in a pat prat tune,

Fell to my ear.

A melody fills 

My Heart.

With stories of the old.

The rain whispered a tune.

Sung a story seldom told.

Of the passing of life,

From Spring's youth,

To Summer's sweet swelter.

The story of these four, Banded brothers.

Strung sweet as fruit to the vine.

Played soft by the rains, passing time.

Whispered sweetly in my ear.

It's song swelled sweetly in my ear, 

For mind and heart to hear.

Goodmorning, Spring