In the garden of my being, seasons dance and sway,
Each phase a delicate bloom in its destined way.
32 days, a circle spun in silent grace,
Mirroring nature’s rhythm in an intimate embrace.

As winter surrenders to the gentle kiss of spring,
Seeds of anticipation in my soul beckons to sing.
The cycle begins, a tender bud takes its stand,
32 days to plant life’s seed in this wondrous land.

With the dawn of spring, I sow hopes anew,
In the fertile earth of my being, dreams accrue.
Each day a petal unfurls, a promise set aglow,
32 days to nourish, to watch these wonders grow.

Through the warmth of summer, life flourishes bright,
Within, a kaleidoscope of colours hope takes flight.
I tend to this garden, with care and tender heart,
32 days of nurturing, each a vital part.

But as the leaves turn gold in autumn’s embrace,
A change unfurls within, a subtle shift of pace.
The crimson river stirs, a whisper in the breeze,
32 days before it flows, the cycle aims to appease.

With the falling leaves, a cycle finds its close,
A symphony of seasons, a tale that nature chose.
32 days to plant, to bloom, to ebb and flow,
A mirror of the universe, in this rhythmic show.

Each phase a poignant verse in life’s grand refrain,
A testament to cycles, to beauty born of pain.
In this garden of my soul, a cycle does recur,
32 days to honour, to nurture, to endure.

Thus, in the beat of seasons’ tender plea,
I find solace in this cycle, this dance so free.
For within these 32 days, a story does bestow,
The essence of womanhood, a rhythm to cherish and know.