good weather for bad poetry

Seasons

Trees in the winter are skeletons

But now they are beaded with buds

Grass greener than ever

To make up for being dead

Overcompensation

Before burn out

It will all soon happen again

And without knowing it,

I will grow into

Good territory or bad

I may be stuck here but

It’s my choice where my roots go

I will see it through in the weather

And the seasons of weakness