Spring spring ye spring is here

flowers blowming

grass a greening

in the misty air.

summer summer love the summer for it is here

people swimin'

the sun gleemin'

oh how we love ye summer

fall fall ye fall is here

the trees are bare

crispy air

in this season fall

winter winter ye winter is here

snowballs,snowmen santa claus too

its a jolly seson it is true

when Jesus Christ was born in a manger

yes this seson is no stranger

                                                              Chapter 2                                                                                                                                     Bipoat?

The following is my rambling and (I'm afraid to say) quite repetitive reemergence as a writer on AP after a long break. Hopefully, I'll be able to turn out a few more essays over the summer.

 I used to love to read

It went hand in hand with to write

I used to love to lose sleep

Reading books all through the night

But now I don’t read as much

Even though I should

I love the stories I encounter

I find them really good

I find myself hesitating

To read something written well

Because every time I read something masterful

A bit of jealousy in me swells

Shannon Hale invents names with ease

Meg Whalen Turner holds you prisoner

**inspired by my imaginings of what life might be like many years after a dystopia (and by watching Independent Lens and POV, and reading The Other Side of the Island too many times). I apologize in advance for any go-green sentiments or other cheesiness... (cringe)**