THE SEASONS OF LIFE

THE SEASONS OF LIFE

Moose heading home
carved from pine and painted in acrylic by Robert Margetts

Play we did in our youth.

Love we gave with no strings attached.

Together we shared the Spring,

the air fresh with evergreen mist

and pastors so alive with bees sucking the nectar from morning flowers.

Water trickled through our toes

as frogs croaked melodiously while perched upon green lily pads.

With Spring the hours lasted late into the night

bringing the joys of kissing lips that hungered

for the touch from one so innocent.

We held close to one another

and cuddled in the lies of everlasting love,

forever under the watchful eye of a tangerine moon.

One score gone by.

My youth fluttering into the Summer wind,

yet in beauty she aged not a day.

The girl in penny loafers shed the leather and walked as a mother.

The two that gave birth to a third,

frolicked upon some unknown hill,

holding hands and laughing for no reason.

It was just Summertime,

and they bathed in the translucent light of a gracious sun.

Blue skies that once gave birth

to young goslings flapping across the endless horizon,

echoed the chilling winds of silence.

Autumn leaves fell to the frostbitten grass below

as the time of age kept its destructive course,

never hesitating and never rewinding.

Wrinkles ran like tributaries

and veins became more numerous upon hands and legs.

In the Fall of his life

she stood strong beside him,

holding hands and smiling deep

beneath the flickering stars.

Winter came with promising hands

effortlessly caressing the hinges loose.

To the fire it raced to gather warmth,

laying in wait for the final rock.

Gently it blew upon the graying embers

that once glistened like black coal.

In slow motion the chair,

like a pendulum winding down,

rocked to the sound of the crackling wood.

The cold quickly shrouded their aged bodies

in a nebulous fog of solace,

as the two passed together into the night

in the house of their loving son.