Boot+Kitty=Poetry in motion
The calendar is my enemy.
The waiting for the days to come.
I hate counting the days,
But the calendar doesn't care.
It shows me all the days remaining
and both sides of THE days,
which change every year,
But always remain the same.
Marked not by dates,
Marked by days.
With annotations of time.
Twice each year.
The Coming and the Going.
Sweet and bitter,
Always in the same order.
Regardless of what the calendar
may lead one to believe:
The fall is too long.
The winter is too long.
The spring is too long.
The summer is too short.
Far too short.
Nature's supreme season. Empty.
Every leaf falling whispers,
"I was once a tree, now I'm alone."
Nature's respite from growth. Empty.
Every snowflake falling whispers,
"I was once the sea, now I'm alone."
Nature's time for renewal. Empty.
Every bloom budding whispers,
"I will be beautiful. But not now."
Nature's time of enrichment. Full.
The laughter of my children shouting,
"I love you, Mama. I always will."
Why do you wound me so?
Just for this year, can you NOT change?
Just for this year. For me?