“Ah,” said Fall, “you know I am the better
season.”
“Mr. Fall, how can you say that? What is
your reason?”
“Sir Spring, you’re only Spring, I am Fall
or Autumn”
“I say, as reasons go, that’s the barrel’s
bottom.
Look at me, in winter’s wake, vibrant, fresh
and green.
And my days are lovely, the best you’ve ever
seen.”
“Dear, Spring, allow me to speak boldly and
deny
That assertion, to which I say, ‘In a pig’s
eye.’
October’s days, cool and crisp, are by far
the finest.
Your spring rains cause floods, making
conditions direst.”
“In May: a man, a lass, some bread, a wine
bottle,
Beloved rites of spring since the age of
Aristotle,
A grand and ancient tradition you cannot
match.”
“What about the World Series? A Willy Mays’
catch?
And the trees, clothed in leaves of yellow,
red and gold?”
“Autumn leaves? Nature telling us the year’s
grown old.
But tulips, petunias, daffodils and the rose
Provide the youthful, lusty year with
stylish clothes.”
“You’ve forgotten the aster and
chrysanthemum.
Oh, Mr. Spring, how come you’re so dumb?
In fall the world’s ablaze in colors
glorious.
It is a sight cheerful, bright and uproarious.”
“Oh please, Mr. Autumn, you are boring me
so.
Fall is welcomed because the summer’s lost
its glow.
Given their choice, folks would opt for
Spring the year round.
You, my good sir, leave the world cold and
all browned.”
“And
you, dear Spring, are but a change from Winter’s frost,
Without its icy blasts, your allure would be
lost.”
And all this mad dickering went on for some
time,
Through summer and winter without reason or
rhyme.
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