A Poem’s ballad

I guess I’m getting more used to writing ballads, hehe. I thought of this while bored at lunch today! Feedback/criticism is welcome 🙂
A Poem’s Ballad
A poem, told on a summer’s day
May just leap out the window
And get blown away.
To swing with the flowers,
And samba with the wind;
Any unhappiness, it will rescind.
It does tap dancing with the rain;
Country when sun’s out again.
If it stays ’til autumn comes
It will greet the cool breeze, with no succumb.
Watching leaves fall all around;
Jazzing with them, down to the ground.
They settle on the floor, but the verses resist;
For winter’s coming: it cannot be missed.
The snowflakes arrive, with their graceful descent;
Forming big piles, with still time to augment.
White tiny ballerinas, deftly they sashay;
Performing their yearly winter ballet.
The poem is the narrator, moving in synchrony;
Providing background for this lovely silent symphony.
Tiptoeing, wonderstruck, on the banks of snow;
Creeping around, still dancing though more slow.
At last, spring comes and knocks on the door,
And beckons plants and creatures to wake from their snore.
All comes alive, the ballet has dispersed;
The poem drinks up the snow, quenching its thirst.
It skips around, prodding the buds out of their slumber;
Brushing off the snow that in dancing would encumber.
The spring’s waltz starts up again, making everything alive;
Come step outside, join this never-ending nature’s jive.
It stays there all day, and it stays there all year;
It puts the bears to sleep and plays tag with the deer.
You have just look out, take a peek at the world:
At all the dancing wonders the poem has unfurled.

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