The Seasoning Of The Season Poem by James Walter Orr

How fast has flown the month of March,
The ides now lying days behind.
The sun now paints a springtime arch,
And thoughts of love invade each mind.

Oh, how love's caldron seethes and churns,
Each time you make a graceful move.
The memory of your last kiss burns,
In ways a god cannot improve.

Why must we think of mundane things,
When love does permeate the air?
The nectar that my lover brings,
Oh, must I stay so much aware,

That every thought must be a kiss,
And every glance must be a touch,
While every word must form a phrase,
That signifies so very much!