Now the snow-bells in the garden wilt,
as the balmy breath of spring blows
daily from August to September
and tosses the crowns of the tallest trees around,
while it rustles through the first green on the meadows.
So the seasons succeed each other
and soon the year will be done
and speak to you in retrospect:
did you take stock in autumn?
did you have a restful, pensive winter?
and when it was spring,
soon to be supplanted by fiery summer,
with winter’s once slumbering seeds in full bloom,
did you plan the reaping of the fruits of your waning labours?
for soon the seasonal stages will host you no more
and you will watch the passing parade from your window
with disinterest, your attention occupied by your inner self,
you’ll contemplate life’s seasons, but without expectation,
just the sombre knowledge of your spiralling deterioration.
Ferdi Wheeler is a South African writer, who writes in English and Afrikaans. In 2025 he published poems and short stories in The Yard, Poetry Potion, The Wise Owl and Roekeloos.