365

janvier rains rinsed away
the festivities
as you walked into my life.

frost of fevrier numbed me,
depression,
raised only by

your conker brown
cinnamon hair, in mars,
smelling as sweet as

the daffodils which
blossomed,
saffron heads of avril.

And more heads were
turned your direction
as mai

closed and juin
sprang forth,
spraying sunshine.

beach visits
inflamed my feelings
under a juillet ray,

as aout thrust in
my body oozed you,
sweat scintillating

in septembre hues
of amber,
bronzing

you like a medal,
(my souvenir).
then octobre

covered you in wools
while novembre
saw you home,

back, across the
waves,
and decembre

rains rinsed away
the festivities
as you walked out of my life.