Human Seasons 2024: Echoes of Keats

Springtime comes in the youthful yen
Where every woman merrily bends
To the beautiful youth, with fantasies
Of love and loves, and nude.

Then summer is here, with thoughts of money
And status, and ink and pen is not so important.
The children cry, and are burdensome
Or they bring joy to the enlightened.

Then at autumn, the expenses of children's
Fortunes weigh heavily on the mind: had they raised
Or been raised, or are they bound by youthful lusts
Still in adulthood? Did fortune bestow its graces upon them?

Then at winter, one is utterly forsook by them
And foul, and old and poor, or old and rich
It does not matter, naked entered into the world
Dust shall be its end, and life was errant.

Spring, the progeny yen to seed their young
Summer, the progeny raise their young
Autumn, the progeny reap in the fortunes
Winter, children forget the kindness of their fathers.

We live in a bitter world;---
That is my addendum to Keats' masterpiece.