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The Seasons

by E. F. Hayward

I love to watch the seasons change;
As Summer takes the throne from Spring,
So wonderful sublime and strange,
Each one its own sweet songs does sing.

It seems each one, in turn, is best;
Is gifted with some special grace;
Yet Summer fades, as have the rest,
And Autumn boldly takes its place.

This of the Four I hold most dear,
Would be content to have it stay;
But Winter comes to close the year,
And Autumn scenes must pass away.

Just so our lives; our childhood days
Are filled with joy, that's ne'er forgot;
And he is wise who simply says,
"I love them all," and murmurs not.

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