Promise of April, joy of May,
Ice covered puddles, crystallizing display.
Mornings so brisk masquerading as cold
Displaced joyfully as blossoms unfold.
Deep peaks and troughs, the ups and downs
That come with four seasons as Sun Earth circles round.
But here in the tropics such monotony
Vistas mostly unchanging in land that’s ice free.
Green all the time, weather climbs from warm to hot;
Refreshing seasons? Middle latitudes have not.
Path never icy, sidewalks slip free,
Are far less likely to break hip or bruise knee.
Fingers with chasms whose tips have deep rifts,
Ten times, “I miss not!” declare my smooth fingertips.
But nip of the night air and dazzle of Northern Lights
are rare jewels abandoned, replaced by equatorial delights.
Merciless sunshine heats these Limbo parts,
Decay’s accelerated, fetid art’s scent daily assaults.
Much more than vernal sacrificed here,
Bright autumnal hues likewise weak I fear.
October’s pumpkins, November’s cornucopic delights,
Just tepid equinoxes that lack vivid highlights.
Here in the middle ‘tween Capricorn and Cancer
Routine turns to monotony of this be assured.
There’s no perfect person, no Heaven on Earth,
Just a huge spread sheet declaring net worth.
All in one package comes good with the bad,
If you come expecting Nirvana then expect to be had.
There is joy to be found at all latitudes,
Thing we most control is our own attitude.