Scintillating Speculations

I often wonder what Autumn is like in Lithuania.
Do the luscious leaves lie dry and dead?
Is the moist moss made melancholy?
Perhaps the tenacious trees sagging with sorrow
Speak to the weeping leaves.
They say, “Cry not, my little green ones.
Wicked Winter comes, yes, but Sweet Spring
Soon follows, along with the Sun. Fear not, Sugar-makers.”
So the kind-hearted trees soothe the leaves
As they slowly withdraw into themselves
Reluctantly relinquishing the leaves
To graceful Gaia.

I often wonder what Summer is like in Lithuania.
I assume the bumbling bees buzz and mumble,
While the water lilies lie in the sunlight,
Soaking up the sun, turning the light into sugar
The bees hum with buzzing, longing for the sweet sustenance.
Perchance the lovely lilies converse with the excited bees.
They each cry, “Choose me, small buzzing ones, I, saccharine, sit
And wait for your resolution. I beseech you, Honey-makers.”
Thus the bees gratify the lamenting lilies,
Sentient to the coming chill of Winter,
And relishing the powdery pollen of the lilies.