I sometimes think that life is like the seasons.
Forever changing, always so perfect and beautiful.

When you are born, you are Spring.
You begin to bud and bloom,
Along with your hopes and ambitions.
Every now and then, a remnant of Winter tries to hold you back.
But you are Spring.

Then you become Summer.
At the height of your glory,
You feel as if nothing can stop you.
Everyone admires you like they do a great oak.
You are Summer

But then comes Fall.
You start to slow down.
Your hair drops like leaves from the tree.
You start to become bare, and ragged.
You are Fall.

At last, Winter.
Your face becomes deathly white,
And you are as cold as snow.
You stand there, motionless, frozen and dead.
You are Winter.

I sometimes think that life is the seasons.
Forever changing, always so perfect and beautiful.