Always a Lady...

 (Before the rain began I was working at cleaning summer-tatters from the gardens...I began to empathize with Her; September-summer)

 

September-Summer slips her hand to the crook of Time’s arm

His cue of tinted tresses is not hard to understand

Her dances and caresses are inept, she cannot charm

Him, but begins the preparation for his next demand

She does not argue though it seems she lingers tenderly

And spreads beneath the walnut tree a memento of tears

The tug of his insistence urges her passionately

But she is like a mother counting moments now, not years

Yes, she has known it all along, that it would come to this

Still, she was unprepared for the deftness with which Time flies

She tilts her chin beseeching him to postpone farewell’s kiss

He shakes his head and flower-tatters scatter in her sighs

She curtsies; the Gate-keeper stands erect and then salutes

For she is a fair lady, even in her latter bloom

Though he sees she is trembling; letting go is hard to do

But she clutches Time’s elbow like a bride beside her groom

Maturity has shaped her into more than wish and whim

Her beauty is a lady by experience refined

September-summer smiles, he looks at her; she nods to him

Then waves; her gentle laughter leaves a trail of leaves behind

© Janet Martin