Not Because We're Crazy, Just Because We're... Getting Older;-)

Before the door

To season spent

Swings open to the new

And pathways hewed

Through spewed unknown

Fills retrospective view

Before the repertoire

Of More pours

Moments into hours

Have you delayed

Duty to dally

And converse with flowers?

…and have you,

For the love of blue,

Lain beneath welkin sweep

Before the door

To season spent

Yields to lorn winds that weep

Across the swell

Where hill and dell

Once green, lies sere and still

Have you taken

The long way home

To roam its poem-sill?

Nothing lasts long;

The song that stirs

The blur of leafy limb

Soon lies beneath

The bough, a wreath

On tombs of bloom-strummed hymn

Time’s easy-going manner,

Like a banner

On the breeze

Wafts, oft without

Much notice over

Almost memories

Before the door

To o’er and done

Turns into season spent

Before we pause

To wonder how

And where it came and went

Have you, have I

Have we without excuses

Crooned our thanks

While chatting with

Tired roses strewn

On high noon’s river-banks

© Janet Martin