It Was In September

It was in September that Poetry first came to me - a time when summer’s embers, for me had not yet caught fire until, that is, Poetry walked casually toward me wearing bell bottoms and a young man’s angel face. Visited by such exquisite grace, I felt the spark of sweet desire’s flame. Our kisses in the night made my spirit sing; the flame leapt higher. Yes, a night to remember is what my angel boy gifted me, and though the fall was near, I was in the springtime of my youth. The years have come and gone gone gone Memories of my old flames are cinders now, softly glowing In my mind. They cannot be revived to brightly glow again; they are the past. After Poetry walked in all those years ago, a few decades passed. One day I felt the urge to put pen to paper. Recalling nostalgically the fire that once had so consumed me, tender words flowed from me; passion was reborn! Recreating fantasy, I became the lady who danced the unicorn, who lived, and who still lives romance, again and again and again, for the passion now is in my pen! It was in September that Poetry first came to me. I just didn’t know it then.