Under the Weather
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Dr. Foster lived in old fashioned London, and was content to stay there;
As red roses are content being caressed, by the wind from everywhere.
Dr. Foster loved his daily routine, like the violet repeat of honeyed days;
And he stuck to their rhythm faithfully, like a valentine heart, ever stays.
Besides, his work kept him quite busy, easing pain, and bringing smiles;
Like vermilion mountains at moonrise, or a colorful rainbow's hazy tiles.
Since failure isn't a familiar word in nature, like rebirth of spring flowers,
Friends flocked to visit, any weather, as jazz days, wile away green hours.
Though Dr. Foster was a widower, his fond, adult children fittingly, visited,
In the flittering, falling days of autumn-in the beauty of seasons, pivoted.
He lived in the house of pearl glamour, and moonbeams coating the roof;
During cozy hours of compelling reading-beneath sunstruck clouds, aloof.
His street of red and teal flowers, was lovely, like a maroon hush, settles;
In sublime, sun soaked afternoons, or coccoa, molasses dusk, red petals!
Nectarine sun was at nether nadir, when nigh neighbors dreamt of a visit;
To rove the narrow paths of narcissus, undernearh pink moonshine, illicit.
'Astrantia sparkling star' flowers flashed pinkly, as 'dark prince' ruled night,
Waiting for 'petunia midnight gold' to shine, like wild, winged doves in flight.
'Begonia angel wings' looked heavenly, the memorable, starlit summer long;
As 'bearded' irises, walked like a man, and 'burning hearts' felt love strong.
Dr. Foster had been musing on travel, to disrupt a mosaic pattern of days,
Finally deciding to see new sights in Glouchester-to feel sun's warm rays!
So, the pleasant, curious homebody, embarked on a dream vacation, ideal;
Like dreams dreamt back when it all began, afore you knew they'd be real.
But, in the charming Glouchester, it rained, for many sodden days on end.
One day, Dr. Foster stepped in a big puddle, when trying, a hill to descend!
Soaking wet, he decided to go home. Then he began to pack immediately.
After a nice evening, the next day he left, despite plans made previously.
Dr. Foster never revisited Glouchester, like a comet returning, not too soon;
Or like many hued, magical primroses, appearing only beneath pearl moon.
'Doctor Foster went to Gloucester,
In a shower of rain;
He stepped in a puddle,
Right up to his middle,
And never went there again.'
Copyright © Evelyn Judy Buehler | Year Posted 2025
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