It's a world of multitudinous things,
Bombarding human senses.
All nature with abandon flings,
Its range at our defences.

Our eyes its colour kind assaults,
In response to heightening sun.
The paintbrush process barely halts,
Once the canvas is begun.

A palette for all but the darkest season,
Colour choice to match their light.
Nature and time agree and reason,
To maximise delight.

And so as spring at last arrives,
Its first-born flowers reflect.
Bright tones of which so long deprived,
As earth and sun connect.

Then revealing its variety,
Summer yields to unrestraint.
And ending cold’s sobriety,
Pollocks all, in coloured paint.

Sky, trees, insects; plants and flowers,
All vie to be the best.
Corralling colour-creative powers,
To try out-do the rest.

Then as it seems its work is done,
Comes a firework display.
By way of thanks to a sinking sun,
Autumn’s fond farewell array.

For now any colours not so far used,
Are assigned to fading trees.
Sprays of remaining russets fused,
Sent skyward on a breeze.

And then the canvas is replaced,
The palette cleared, reset.
Until once again by the artist graced,
And by winter, spring is met.