Spring slips in—quiet breath of becoming,
Sunlight wakes seedlings with whispered hope,
Birdsong floats—like Wordsworth’s soft wonder,
Blossoms blush, unsure of their tomorrow.
Summer warms gently—Shakespeare’s calm June,
Rivers hum low over stones of old truths,
Grandma stirs gajar ka halwa—memory melting into sweetness,
Pinnis—small circles of love—steady the heart.
Fields murmur beneath slow golden breezes,
Cicadas pulse a distant lull,
Joy pauses—knowing daylight never lingers long.
Autumn arrives on the hush of rusted leaves,
They drift—amber sighs of letting go,
Pumpkins rest heavy with quiet gratitude.
Winter writes Frost’s verse in silver silence,
Icicles hush the eaves with glass-cold stillness,
Books wait beneath blankets—ink breathing softly,
Flames remember stories in a low orange glow.
Seasons drift onward—but love stays, silently warm.
Dr. Ritu Kamra Kumar
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