5 in 540

builder of the seasons

the familiar adobe made of clay and crooked sticks
with bendy walls and curvy halls
lo a thatched roof which served as proof that he was aloof--this is truth
it sounded out what was capped within, and it too caved like a honey tin
comfortable it seemed, but flimsy it deemed.

and spring arrived, the trees were surprised, that the builder was alive
he kicked the stick and chose the brick and with a flick
he placed the mortar and there was order and there was structure
no one could puncture.

until spring left and in her place stood dawn of summer
which tore asunder his house of wonder
in wanton plunder and rolling thunder.
spider cracks crawled the walls
and trenchant slats, those ploughed the halls
everything he had, he had to lose
dragged by a noose like an old caboose.

but the sun let up and the trees let down their foliage brown as if to say:
you need not frown because the wind has blown
and the seeds were sown so you must have grown.  
your life is your own so dont be a clone just be your own 
now dry your bone: learn to live alone.

matthew wrote that this was wise:  
when the skies split in twain and it starts to rain
as floods start to rise fools avert their eyes from the autumnal sighs
their houses wash away in the rushing sand 
their lives melt away, apocalypse at hand!

so he found a rock along the coast and with a toast he made a boast
that he would build another house fit for a king, fit for a mouse
one no cumulonimbus nor hurricane could douse
small enough, yet big enough--to store everything; but risk nothing.

he kicked the brick and hurled the stick
and without a feel he chose the steel
and upon a kneel he touched the rock
and upon the rock he placed the beams
and with the beams he built a wall, and upon the walls he fixed a roof
and it was proof he was aloof--it was still truth
'cept windows now faced a different azimuth.

the builder had a new house of wonder
no lightning no thunder could reveal a blunder
and he remembered in autumn what the trees said to him:
that no houseguests could warm him
save the seraphim and of course, the Him.

so when winter came the house you'd guess, it was a mess
and as you know it grew terribly cold
im sure youre told that it snowed sixty-fold
it was no gold: the pain of growing old
the bread in hand had festered mold
he was not sold that he could remain this bold.

but man cannot live on bread alone
no matter the toast no matter the boast
so he took the tool and like a fool he broke his home to smell the breeze
a different breeze, a warmer a breeze, a friendlier breeze, a smiley breeze,
a caring breeze, a lovelier breeze, a pretty breeze, a refreshing breeze,
a tiny breeze but an amazing breeze.

it's spring again it seemed to him though it really still was
the coldest winter its ever been.