Sure.

I sit by this field so clutched by change
Green in the summer, wet in the rain,
Brown and dry and barren and white
In the deepening suns unbroken array

I sit pleasantly with joy induced grief
Though pastel colors adorn each leaf
This wooden bench basking in sunset
Orange cuts blue as winters corset

And in the fall my song's depressed
No longer in summer's ardent eyes
Only cold december wherein winter lies
Spring's ethereal blossom's are duressed