Our Season Poem by Holly Jamestone

As the crimson leaves from the trees
Greet us on our doorsteps
So, too, gather our men
Those quality few, those would-be suitors

They smile and wink at us in the sun
And wait for us, longingly and unscattered
They land on our shoes and stay there
Waltzing with us till the sun sets or time ends

Seasons change as other leaves tacitly blow
In and out of our lives
Kissing the sky and flirting with our hearts
Making us blush all too often

Merriment sours if we wait for the disingenuous
Their not-so-everlasting gold crunching afoot
Their shapes and scents unfamiliar to us
Never quite committed in autumn love

They brush by the window with only a lazy sigh
They dance through our hair but are really not ours
They fill our windowsills with emptiness
And hang their scarves on our porch railings

Sweet beckoned heart that goes back to the doorstep
Do wait unwaveringly for the special ones
As there is no need to rake up and discard the others
No reason to mourn their decay

They were never more than a passing season
They were never really ours
They were for our folly and our instruction
Our lesson beyond the drought

When the snow quilts us and calls them away
The devoted will greet us back on our doorstep
Our hearts will be warm, free, and forever light
As we have at last found
OUR SEASON

(10-8-2002)
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