Spring, when young men fancy a turn at love.
Women too, or there's no mewling harvest,
yuletide arrivals; secular and religious.
The seed grows, all the spring and summer long,
but the joy is in the panting planting
at least for some.
And for those whose turn has come and gone;
older men who look on in envy in March,
matriarchs jealous in the December cold,
Springtime comes with nostalgic tints
and the joy is in the shimmery memory
of younger love.
Comments
jennifer | March 2, 2009 - 10:07
Pfft! Love is not simply in the realm of the young, y'know!
J x
Ewan | March 2, 2009 - 10:10
No, but it sure is different.
Bradene | March 2, 2009 - 10:33
How Very True *Sobs* Val (;
jennifer | March 2, 2009 - 12:21
Ha! I hope it gets better, my own experiences have not been great!
J x
Silver Spun Sand | March 2, 2009 - 17:09
"The seed grows, all the spring and summer long,
but the joy is in the panting planting
at least for some"
Marvellous lines, these. Good poem.
And yep, you're right ... it's different and some:-)
Tina
Nathan Bednarek | March 2, 2009 - 23:38
The lines quoted by Tina are one of the best I've read from you, at least in my humble opinion.
I enjoyed this poem very much. Well done.
Nathan.