Season

 1 Spring|        that bast-shod submissive soul, ~Clad in an awkward garb
 2 Spring|         flocks, like a benignant soul, ~Throws by a fence some
 3 Spring|          dark for that bedeviled soul. ~"Ah, listen," spoke up
 4 Spring|         well the troubles of our soul;~And all the more so, when
 5 Spring|           And then you, wretched soul, with grieving Eve your
 6 Summer|          at me to snatch away my soul. ~Then, worn and terrified,
 7 Summer|          out our very breath and soul? ~Prate not about the flax,
 8 Autumn|          my flesh would ache, my soul would be content. ~But now
 9 Winter|      foods. ~Indeed, it irks the soul, when weary, worn and wet ~
10 Winter| conscience, ~Like some tormented soul, unable to find peace, ~
11 Winter|         I, to strenghten my poor soul,~Each year shoot down for
12 Winter|    sucked the nutriment that the soul needs,~Serenely takes the