Collette Anne Kearns
Seasons Of Us
We begin with Spring,
trampling daffodils in the park
at a yellow time of day.
We continue with Summer, sweltering,
longing to paddle with the waterfowl.
Afraid to expose ourselves to blistering rays.
On to Fall, and fragrant wood smoke,
and sharp, tangy smell of decaying leaves,
my gloveless hand fitting snugly into yours.