“There used to be four seasons, and in between them, a few more, now? Not so anymore.“ Gun Roswell

Some kind of season

The seasons ever changing, is the old adage, some are still using

But in truth, there are few seasons left, even if the almanac would otherwise state

The spring, the summer, the autumn, the winter

Mostly left is the one big ugly grey splinter

The one digging in too deep into each and every life

Making the life as we once knew, a nightmarish strife

Counting the days of beautiful bliss is seemingly easy

Because there aren’t many of those, only ones sleazy

And so, looking out through the foggy window

Comparing the current view to those photos few

Where actually the visual was pleasant, the need to go

Outside for an adventure, just because, wow

Alas, not any more, and that, is a really big bore