April, I long for the arrival of your
ethereal splendour, daylight that dazzles,
elemental harmony and enchanting nights.
I confess:
in the springtime of my being,
my romance with October,
(which proved to be a fling,
and should have been
over decades ago),
over decades ago),
blinded me from seeing
how romantically appealing
you can truly be.
So, thank you, sweet April,
for the meadows of soft petals
that cushion my sore feet,
for the sparkly rays of
sunshine that adorn my shoulders,
for the dewy, dainty raindrops
that trickle down my lashes
and for the fragrant blossoms
that prompt my heart to skip a beat.
Now, in the autumn of my days,
the praise of leafy luxury
has morphed into malaise, since,
what follows fallen foliage
- winter's barren browns
and callous whites -
could never ignite the passion
found in springtime's floral brights.
Written for Susan's Midweek Motif:
'April', at Poets United
Thanks for visiting!
Poppy