Was It March, Was It May..... Poem by David Levitas

Was it March, was it May,
The season matters not.
Bright it was, as fresh and clear
As amber wine, and sweet
With expectation.

Daffodils I bought, or was it
Lilac blooms, that met
Your chestnut gaze with
Silent comprehension.

Words were spoke; cropped
From moor and waking streets;
Few, but touched with
Morning glory

You smiled, I think, and let
The dew settle on your
Speckled rug. My heart it
Bleated boundingly.

You left to dress and bring a jug
To hold the brightness that was yours;
And as I sat, I thought I reaped the sunbeams
That through the window glanced
To settle on the fleece worn floor.

Green the door or was it blue,
So light my sense that frisky morn;
And still I wonder, May or June,
Did you that morning meet
With knowing salutation,
Or was your breast like mine
White with revelation.