At The Mercy of You, My Year

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This morning as I stood at the fence to greet you I pondered our friendship; how often I've welcomed you with open arms, then turned and you were gone...

For years she’s seen you climb the fence

To cross the yard then wave good-bye

Yes, you were her first real romance

You taught her how to laugh and cry

But always when you disappear

Then you are nothing but A Year

Once upon her fair, girlish dreams

And fantasies foreign to truth

You tugged morning to dusk-hushed streams

And hugged the girl that lost her youth

As motherhood deployed love’s tear

And still simply, she calls you Year

Ah, fairest of them all art thou

Yet, without face or voice or form

Morning and noon and evening, how

Full Want of you ignites a storm

For all she has and holds, my dear

Is but the offspring of thee, Year

Cool Casanova, troubadour

Then will she every truly know?

What your utter intentions are

For she is at your mercy, so

Please, be a darling, be a dear

And be a kind and gentle Year

© Janet Martin

A chuckle courtesy of Victoria from the Peanuts book we gave her for Christmas;