Thursday, May 27, 2004

The Wind as a Mistress to the Seasons

Her first romance is with Spring,
And it is an affair that is full
Of all the passions and joys
The only belong to youngest love.
She frolicks across the grass with him,
Sending kites high into the air
And ruffling the hair of passing children.
They dance among the clouds,
Unconciously crying to all the world
To bear witness to their selfless beauty.

By the time she takes Summer’s hand
Her innocence has long since past
Replaced by something torrid and sexual.
Her breath is hot, and often moist,
With the humidity of intertwining lust.
Many days she does little more
Than to lie motionlessly beneath him,
Soaking his heat into her body;
Sometimes the flames of their desire
Last long through the night.

When Autumn finally finds her
She is a woman ready for a change of mood.
Putting away the exuberance of youth,
She becomes a lady of sophistication.
When she walks down the street,
It is with cool and collected grace.
She dons the elegant dresses of tan and gold
That her paramour has made for her,
Always aware that all eyes are upon her,
And that she has gained a reputation
That she must now and always live up to.
People wonder why she sometimes weeps.

At last she marries Winter.
He forgives her those past indiscretions,
And gifts her with a wedding gown of white.
He is a good man, but so terribly old;
His ancient breath sends shivers through her skin.
It is no wonder that it is not a happy marriage.
On the best of days, it is cold,
And when she rages, as happens too often,
One can only wonder if this ragged, regal woman
Was the same girl who ran across
The verdant grasses so very long ago.

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