Each season chases out the former

 

Each season chases out the former,

All seasons lie in wait in the Sky,

For the extant to be chased away:

Spring lies in wait 

For Winter to be chased away,

As Summer waits for Spring

To be chased away,

Then Autumn, then Winter,

They are all hiding in the Sky.

One day a season or more will get tired,

Someday a season or more will slow down,

And thus fall far behind,

And, forever lay hidden in the Sky.

Will it be Winter, will it be Spring?

Will it be Autumn, will it be Summer?

Only the Sky can tell: 

For It only downs the Veil,

It also holds the Rotating Wheel.