Sonnet 97, by NY Shakespeare Exchange

How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness everywhere!
And yet this time removed was summer's time;
The teeming autumn, big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime,
Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease:
Yet this abundant issue seemed to me
But hope of orphans, and unfathered fruit;
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And, thou away, the very birds are mute:
      Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer,
      That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

Sonnet 97, from The Sonnet Project, by the New York Shakespeare Exchange.

I've lived in Chicago nearly all of my life, and as a poet there is lyricism to the passage of seasons here.  It doesn't matter which one, they're all ripe with metaphor.  They all resonate with something in me, which poetry puts its particular language to.  So this sonnet resonates with something in me, then.  Notice how its volta is actually situated at the start of the third quatrain, as if perhaps the sonnet really could not sustain summer pleasures or teeming autumn for any length of time.  The final couplet doesn't reverse the mood, but simply seals with a kind of nail to the coffin.