Spring came slowly that year
Dawdling over the winter gnarled earth
Snowdrops lingering tardily into late March
Colliding their white with the robust
Multi-colors of vigorous crocus
Too easily giving way to daffodil’s sharpness
April dies, as daffodils fade, failing to court
May’s new-fangled show.
And this young man seated on a park bench,
Hard as iron.
Is unaware of nature’s slow circus,
Head in tome, he studies the raw geography,
Of landforms, mountains and valleys
Preparing him for college days ahead.
He is content with the May sun that kisses his brow,
And bursts open, in startled green
The buttons on new fleshed twigs
While sparkling the waters of the clouded lake,
Not yet weed blanketed, as will happen.
Then, suddenly,
Out of all reason,
Came that day when she was there,
Later than the other Spring blooms,
Prettier than the cherry tree blossom
Blessing the vital day
Yellow coated was she, to displace the fading daffodil.
Golden haired to rival the buttercup
The young man spied her progress
On the other side of the sun-kissed lake,
As she strolled leisurely on long, lithe legs,
Lovely, to linger, laughing
At squabbling ducks.
Oh, that laughing face, so beautiful.
No love experience this young man,
So shy.
Day after day in summer’s approach,
Same time she was there, while he,
Across the lake could only ogle
As summer clothes she chose,
Revealed more skin,
And bouncing breasts under
Loose fit blouses, and thin, flowered dresses
That park bench was now rivaled for hardness
As Summer played its happy course
She came naked to his bed,
Where he applied his knowledge
Of raw geographic landscape to the perfections
Of her exquisite form as
Fingers stroked upward slopes
And smoothly reached pink-tipped peaks
Gliding down onto enticing plains
To where grasslands, and his novice ways,
Hid the luscious valley
And that secret deep, deep cave.
He awoke in his ever lonely bed,
With damp pajamas glued at thigh
So, he maintained his love-sick vigil
Modest shyness held him
As spectator, as Autumn reds and brown
Painted leaves before they tumbled
And warmer clothes now covered his love
But then his whole world crumbled.
That day she strolled, but not alone,
A tall young man, too close
This could not be,
Did his blood really run cold?
Came Winter,
And it’s icy fangs, bit deep into his bones.
Harsh studies cut park visits
Then came that Winter’s break,
He had to see, was she alone?
But no, and so much worse
They walked all snuggled closely,
And where ducks forever squabbled,
They stopped,
And kissed with ardent passion,
Tears were on the young man’s eyes,
Easy to blame winter’s churlish chiding,
And with icy crystals gripping his heart,
Deep in the Winter of his discontent
The young man strode away
That park avoided like the plague,
After many years he did return
A happy, learned man,
His lady on his arm
Two children giggled around their feet
Who was it wrote, “If Winter comes—“?
