"Louisiana Wood"

Let us take a small journey
Down South, yet still north
Of the Louisiana bayou,
The trees there stood
To become a wood
In which the child plays in.

In summer, it is hot
And yet the perfect day
To hike through the trees,
Not coming home until late.
Slowly, the season changes...

In fall, it is dry, dead,
And yet still warm and perfect
Until in the evening, it freezes
When the season changes...

In winter, there is no snow,
But the child no longer plays--too cold.
Then, the season changes...

Spring this time--yet no more fun.
The season changes...

Summer again--the wood is gone.