The fields turn green,
The flowers bloom and the horses plow.
In glory vultures preen,
Waiting for winters deadly kiss and springs final bow.
Winter covers all in her embrace.
The fields are buried awaiting springs delight.
Man cannot abide winter cruel pace.
yet the fields are locked away tight.
Yet even winter must give way to the warmth of spring.
Then the fields will turn green.
Inspired by a.e. houseman