Romance Poetry posted November 10, 2015

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Seasons of the Heart

Women I Have Loved

by mfowler

Women I Have Loved

She came like pretty flowers of the Spring.
So young, so fresh - an innocence confined
to loving every blessed living thing.
A heart of purity - her love was blind.
In cheese cloth dresses she would frolic, dance.
I'd take her hand and swing her to my side.
She'd laugh and ask if this was true romance.
We'd kiss, she'd say she was my Springtime bride.
But, love so carefree, uncommitted, drove
me mad. Her life was hers and others too.
Not prepared to share her treasured trove,
I said goodbye and looked for someone new.
To capture nature's sweetest, headstrong child,
I first released her back into the wild.

The summer mellowed tones of heightened hue.
She smiled with knowing at my hopes and plans.
The dreams we shared included family too
as we wandered in the sunshine holding hands.
Confetti thoughts extend like summer showers.
They wet the earth and multiply the dreams.
Her face, so flawless through the midnight hours
now tracked her tears down stony, shallow streams.
The stress of expectation came and went.
She felt the heat of life with man and kids.
The love that early summer breezes sent,
was quickly fading, heading for the skids.
For passion's heat can flicker, fade like candle,
when kitchen's warmth becomes too hard to handle.

When temples thinned and fall abraded life,
attraction lay in wonder at her ways.
I found the gold in moments with a wife,
her qualities alight in autumn's blaze.
We walked our garden path through scattered leaves
and arm in arm we reminisced of past.
We cuddled close against the chilly breeze
and wondered why the time had gone so fast.
But, all around the beauty filled our needs.
The life we had was good and filled with care.
Our work, the kids, our home, our noted deeds
weren't threatened by the fall or greying hair.
Among the changes autumn colour brings,
is affirmation of those marriage strings.

Now winter's winds and sleet are cramping style.
Our bones are brittle like a leafless tree.
We know that darkness comes with time and guile
and steals away all lifetime memories.
We sit and chatter by the slow-burn fire;
the flames illuminate her creasing brow.
I know that winter's end is sad and dire.
She's never seemed so sweet and light somehow.
But, seasons of the heart are wondrous gifts;
four stages of a lifetime's work and vow.
O'er time the light and colours blend and shift,
showing up the best of us right now.
Four seasons, four good women, one great life.
But, the four are one, my lover, friend, my wife.


Poem of the Month contest entry


Four Shaespearean sonnets written in mainly iambic pentameter.
Here and there I've included anapestic feet and trochaic feet at line starts to vary the rhythm.
Pays one point and 2 member cents.

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