Category: Seasons

Today looks the same as a day in July:
The heat-waves still rise toward the sun-tortured sky;
Continuing rains
Have the grass showing gains,
And the shade of the trees still invites passersby.

But the once-graceful willow is starting to sag;
And the jumps of the sleepy old grasshopper lag.
Although subtle and still,
You can hear, if you will,
The steps of the heat-weary summertime drag.

by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 9, 1947

The bitter March wind threatens still
To chase a snow-storm down the hill,
To freeze the river, freshly thawed,
And keep us faintly overawed.

But Pooh, March wind! For I have waited
Too long to be intimated,*
So blow your worst. However rough
You are, you fake, I call your bluff;
I eye askance; my eyebrows arch–
For spring is near any day in March!

*intimidated?

by Ray Romine Thursday, December 11, 1952

In summer, when the sun is hot,
I crave a season when it’s not;
Yet winter hears me cry in rhyme;
“Give me summer every time!”
Spring no longer oan appease me,
And autumn is hard put to please me.
I typify man’s discontent–
Longing for what was that went!

by Ray Romine Friday, December 29, 1950

Cold weather’s here now, there’e no doubt ahout it,
Winter is nice, but I COULD do without it!

Old King Winter’s had his fling–
Now why can’t he make way for spring?

by Ray Romine Wednesday, February 21, 1934

Hail rebirth
Of the magic earth–
Let rain-soaked green sod spring it;
Let the happy brook
From his green-walled nook
Chortle and crazily sing it.

Hail rebirth!
Let the robin’s mirth
Arouse the bees, who spread it
As they stagger round
Wild-flower town
Giving the south wind credit.

Hail rebirth–
And each bud’s new girth
Is a vernal indication
Of the blossom-strewn start
or earth’s April part
That beggars the proclamation.

by Ray Romine Saturday, November 11, 1950

Just to see fierce winds of March
Make way for this tender child
That is April, seems to prove
Nature isn’t always “wild.”
But was chivalry involved?
March returns through April’s wood,
Shoving, rudely trying to
Unseat April–if he could!

by Ray Romine Wednesday, March 21, 1951

When autumn has vanished and left us the cold,
The frost on the window is fearless and bold;
The sparrow, dejected, pulls neck into feathers;
Lone weeds are dark slaves that the bitterness tethers;
One leaf on the apple tree manfully clings;
While the pine and the cedar spread graceful green wings.
The wind is young; gusty; He shows off his might
As snow clouds debate with their burden of white.
That cold scrape of door as we let ourselves out
Reminds us of mittens, with Winter about;
And the white picket fence with a snow drift beneath
Is this masculine harridan showing his teeth.

by Ray Romine Monday, November 19, 1951

Dear old summer, here you are;
You look better from afar.
While you’re my model and my hero
In the winter when it’s zero,
Now I beg you, from my spit,
COULD you turn it down a bit?

by Ray Romine Monday, April 6, 1953

I’m in tune with every season,
Even to my pile of pelf;
Here the days are at their shortest,
And I’m sort of short myself.

by Ray Romine Friday, August 18, 1950

If it’s true anticipation
Is the lion’s share of pleasure,
Then the winter’s sorry ration
Is the rarest sort of treasure!

by Ray Romine Thursday, January 2, 1947