My Seasons

In my youthful springtime I walked amid the garden. I gathered many flowers In varied lovely colors. I chose the delicate poppy That was dearest to my heart. Little did I realize when I plucked it and confined it In a vase, that it would so Quickly fade and wither. I was determined not to make That same sad mistake again. As I began my summer I fell in love with a crimson rose. Its stem was strong and sturdy And when contained with-in a vase Its petals opened ever slowly, and It became more beautiful with age. I know that my sweet rose will be With me through my autumn. Then one day in my winter That precious flower that I treasure Will lose all its pretty petals. I will gather them together to Make a fragrant potpourri. Note: Now that the 'Metaphorically Speaking' contest by Catie Lindsey has been announced, I can reveal that I was speaking of my ex-husband as the poppy flower whom I married in my Springtime. My Crimson Rose is the man I married in my Summer whom I am still married to after almost 31 years. The other flowers are the men I dated before I was married. If my husband dies before me, my memories of him will become the potpourri.