In spring’s embrace, the earth reclaims her voice,
A verdant song where life begins anew,
The buds unfurl, the rivers dance and rejoice,
As light and warmth weave through the morning dew.
But Shelley’s world, where beauty met despair,
Now speaks in tongues of fire and melting ice,
The blossoms’ blush, a fragile, fleeting prayer,
As earth’s own pulse is taxed by heavy price.
Summer strides bold, with golden, burning hand,
Her breath a heat that sears the weary ground,
Yet nature’s cycle spins, as once it planned,
Though now, its rhythm altered, sights confound.
We stand within this altered cadence, torn,
Our echoes lost within the thunder’s cry,
What once was life in birth, now scars adorn,
The seasons shift beneath a darkened sky.