The canvas tells a tale of the land,
Of a world that bleeds through every strand,
A story of wounds that mark its face,
Etched in shades that shift and trace.
Summer comes with a blaze of heat,
The sun's rays dancing at our feet,
But as the land bakes beneath the sun,
Blood stains the soil, the pain begun.
Autumn's hues of orange and brown,
A season of change as leaves fall down,
Yet the land still weeps, a painful sound,
Nature's cry, a world unbound.
Winter's chill, a season of white,
Of snow and ice, of darkest night,
But beneath the surface, the land still bleeds,
Nature's wounds that the earth still needs.
May this painting serve as a call,
A plea to cherish and heal us all,
To mend our wounds, to soothe our soul,
To embrace our land as a whole.