I am gentle in Spring, when
everything blossoms, quiet
like mornings when you kiss
me; brush tresses and tears
from tired eyes. Even the stars
seem to grow brighter when
April shines.
I am fragile in Summer when
heat waves weaken senses
like when I first saw you in
June under a weeping willow;
dreams shaded by temporary
goodbyes.
I am not fond of fading colors,
dying flowers and green turning
to brown, crumbling beneath my
feet, or wedding bouquets left
to dry and stored away like old
memories. Maybe if you stay
and hold my hand, I can even
learn to love
Fall.
~
forget-me-not 