In the spring, the flowers bloom, and the trees turn a lively green.
But the pollen attacks my nose and eye, preventing me from smelling and seeing.
In the summer, I can finally swim, and my skin turns golden bronze.
But too much sun makes my skin turn red, bearing the pain of peeling skin.
In the winter, I can finally wear my knitted scarf and drink hot cocoa.
But it is too cold to go outside, and it seems like no amount of layers can generate enough warmth.
In the fall, the trees turn red and orange to collect and make giant leaf piles.
But the rain makes it awkward to exit a car with a clumsy umbrella,
And the leaves, soggy and wilted, do nothing but stick to the bottom of my shoe.
But the pollen attacks my nose and eye, preventing me from smelling and seeing.
In the summer, I can finally swim, and my skin turns golden bronze.
But too much sun makes my skin turn red, bearing the pain of peeling skin.
In the winter, I can finally wear my knitted scarf and drink hot cocoa.
But it is too cold to go outside, and it seems like no amount of layers can generate enough warmth.
In the fall, the trees turn red and orange to collect and make giant leaf piles.
But the rain makes it awkward to exit a car with a clumsy umbrella,
And the leaves, soggy and wilted, do nothing but stick to the bottom of my shoe.