Summer No Longer Clothes Itself For Me Poem by Patti Masterman

Summer no longer clothes itself, for me:
I'm always barren winter now, gone to seed.
My flowers gone back to root and rot;
Summer's waltzes and festive engagements
Can't make fruitful my garden plot.

Summer no longer invites me to dance;
Alone on the sidelines, with downturned glance.
Would I have chose better, with farther sight;
If I'd danced with more abandon, each opening night,
Instead of fear, of every morning's bare light?

Summer has fruits; we take our time to choose:
Reject the half ripened, and the bruised;
While thinking the marketplace the only vendor,
As savvy consumers; we make our best choice
We never suspect age holds different joys.