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I was an unfathomable mystery writer, producing novels for ardent readers,
Much like a mystery of vanishing pearly moon, as sun comes up to greet her.

My days were spent devising fresh plots, like edgy seas, seeking new shores,
Roving half of the scented world for another, as wafted flower seeds explore.

My books became so popular, because my name had been spoken by many,
Like roses of fields of honeyed sun, basking in quiet fame, and gazes plenty!

Friends found me in flowering, fabulous parks, at cherry sunsets of our lives,
As purple butterflies follow the fragrance, or bees take its news to the hives.

Fundamental family fluttered in like fall, when the colorful leaves start flying,
Like thrills of the descending westward sun, in red beauty there's no denying.

I had always merited the month of May to be magic, like marshmallow clouds;
So rosy, feathery and slow moving, amid honey sunshine, near avian crowds.

I lived in the house of soft whispers, caressed always by silk and satin breeze,
When rumor of flowers filled zealous air, as fireflies created silent symphonies.

Seasoned seasons were splattered with color, at pretty sites along my street,
With laughter from mauve porches at even, of gone faded afternoon obsolete.

Near neighbors and I nestled beneath shade trees, to escape sweltering noon,
As scent blooms laugh and cry, in lemon sun, and shadows before pearl moon.

Summer was in blueberry sunrises, when gemmed hummingbirds wandered;
And days were long as hued silk ribbons, in golden time, as yet unconquered.

The moon hummed its violet lullabies, in lush, tranquil hours before dreams,
As caressing wind murmurs so gently, ahead of scarlet, maddening screams!

One day I was stunned to learn, my mild, merry, flowery May had gone away.
It was missing from memories and the calendar, like windblown petal disarray!

May Day and mayflies had vanished, into vague shadow of gold washed time;
And I alone missed dancing around the maypole, colorful celebration sublime.

I missed a day of appreciation to Mother, full of blooms, lovingly surrendered,
And despite what the busy calendar might read, Memorial Day I remembered!

The next day beauteous May had returned, after twenty four hours' grieving.
My belief of its magic was verified, for it would not allow the blatant thieving!

I'll not forget when red-violet June came too soon, and birds sang out of tune;
But May is yet full of lovely mystery, that cannot be wholly learnt under moon!
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