My Seasons
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 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.
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