It Is The Season Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

IT IS THE SEASON

It is the season for a carriage ride.
We shall leave our chambers at noon and go
To where frosty grass meets pearl-white snow.
Our coach shall be warm, with drapes on either side.

We shall glide by gardens and bowers of gold,
And each in a shy way, sitting close, we shall desire
The kiss of the other, the winter's wondrous fire,
Cozy on the cushions, longing to caress and hold.

Then nonchalantly, your lips will open wide
Like a rose that blushes with petals of pink;
You shall take me in without a thought to think,
As tender emotions will rule by the tide,
By the statues, by the grotto, by the oceanic boon.-
And you shall be with child come the vespers and the moon.