I love the smiling end of spring, and autumn's kind beginning,
Though the latter summer's losing, and the former summer's winning.
Both genial and temperate, when light and heat are less intense,
These aglets of the hottest months, provide a welcome recompense.

The skies are more unsettled, their clouds being fidgety and restless,
Bright clear calm days along with those where blowy and sun guestless.
One season getting ready corralling all a summer needs,
The other slow undoing what soon ambivalently recedes.

Anticipation fills spring days as they approach the season's border,
Knowing that soon hot summer days will for a while bring calm and order.
Still ditheringly uncertain winter yet has things to say,
But its voice is now a mumble as it chatters on through May.

Autumn is but the summer, feet up in easy chair reclined,
September kind ensuring it can relax and slow unwind.
Longing stalks these autumn days, warmth and light much quieted now,
And brings a soft and embered light with which it's prospect to endow.

Summer delivers its brief excess, to fuel us through less lustrous seasons,
It's intensity I selfless bear for all its beneficial reasons.
But yearn yet for those months of pleasing and agreeable repose,
Where I enjoy the summer's very best: before it comes and when it goes.