Anticipation's Aftermath

I can’t get over how every week just flies by…

Anticipation spills its lore like flowers spilling bloom

A sky-wide door opens and shuts each summer afternoon

And soon, like pictures in a locket, hearts expand their hold

Grappling where summer unravels Her pockets of silk-gold

Now Trouble finds a foothold, love, now laughter finds our lips

Now Time finds ways of stunning us in spite of her old tricks

And though there is nothing new under heaven we are awed

By haste of dawn to dusk and seed to husk in living’s laud

Chicory, Queen Ann’s Lace and goldenrod strip August bare

As dust stirred by the phantom feet of moments hovers where

The holy bittersweet of it drains into Bygone’s deep

And fists, once full of flowers find a wilted sprig to keep

© Janet Martin

I am constantly dead-heading,

Dumping jars of wilted blooms

To make room for fresh bouquets….

A little like life;

as one season fades

we fill thought-jars

with fresh bouquets

only to turn

and see the husk of anticipation

scattered in its wake…