Your Season Poem by Elaine Sept
Your Season
The quiet willow softly blossoms,
With her gentle blush of red,
Love's tender touch so shyly felt,
Through sunshine spilled overhead.
It happened back in springtime,
When fresh blossoms showed their face,
Their fragrant delicate beauty,
Softly held your warm embrace.
Then came nurturing rains of summer,
Mists of change filled the air,
Soft heard such gentle whispers,
Your true kind and loving care.
Autumn breezes brought you closer,
Warm bright colours transform so free,
By season's journey I had discovered,
All you've come to mean to me.
Starless nights, draw ever countless,
As I breathe chilled winter air.
At my lips your echo lingers,
Silence taunting.....you're not there.
Willow moments as this flicker,
Through dreams, your candle burns,
This light for you; forever,
Your season never turns.
The seasons of love and loss, a very moving and well written poem thank you Elaine
Congratulations on getting Poem of the Day! This is as smooth as silk, flows well, and while the loss of love touches the reader's heart, the poem keeps its elegance and does not bash him over the head with it. Very well done.
Your beautiful selection of words, delicate treatment of nature and an understanding of human relationships make it an amazing read. Thanks.
This is a delightful poem of nature and your love of it G.B. Smith
I felt the mood of reading Ur. poems as when I had read poems of William Wordworth Very good. Thank U. for sharing the poem.
This is a beautiful poem on love and relationship having stunning expression. Thank u dear Elaine and congratulate for being selected this poem as the poem of the day.
Write comment. Great imagination. You may like to read my poem, Love and Lust. Thanks.
A wonderful creativity about the climate the poet given.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 2:50:51 PM # 1.0.0.1119
To Elaine A groundhog ate my tulip bulbs I saw him in the morn; Their bursting heads Had barely blazed Their petals chewed, now torn; Beauty has no special right To exist upon the dawn I hold their limpid tooth worked spears And helpless glower and mourn. The flower I thought to give to you In tribute to your form Was eaten by that waddling rat Who sniffs the air with scorn.