WINTER COMES
By Linda Wigzell Cress
- 3134 reads
I met my lover in the Spring
When nimble-footed, we ran free
Through primrose fields and dewy grass
And smelt sweet blossom on the tree.
How we had laughed, and danced, and sung –
When we were young.
In Summer full blown roses bloomed -
Such heady scent of maturity;
The burning joy of children’s love,
The heat of responsibility –
Oh, how that season changed my life –
Mother and wife.
The Autumn brought a wind of change
As children grew and flew away;
Our love turned from green to gold –
We’d grown older then, yet still not old
With many plans of things to do –
Just we two.
And now the Winter has begun.
My eyes grow dim, my pace is slow,
And where I once was chestnut crowned
I see a dust of frost on snow
And dream of youth; yet am content.
A life well spent.
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Comments
Hi Linda.
Hi Linda.
This is beautiful and has touched my heart. The seasons of love and the contentment at the end of the poem made it all the sweeter.
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I too, appreciatd the way you
I too, appreciatd the way you have worked this bringing out much of the seasons of life. Rhiannon
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Linda,
Linda,
You have created something beautiful here. But then I expected nothing less.
Good luck with the competition,
moya
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Yet again, you put into words
Yet again, you put into words things that I guess we all can relate to Linda. Well done once again and Good luck in Comp. I can't find the comp page to see what is there so keeping my fingers crossed.
Roy
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I have mentioned this to Luke
I have mentioned this to Luke as I cannot even find the competition page. Fingers crossed. Might just get another in! Rx
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A lovely poem, Linda, this
A lovely poem, Linda, this will go far in the competition. You are a good and prolific writer.
Best, Luigi.
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Hi Linda
Hi Linda
love this poem . Key words and rhythm make it flow along with grace
Blaukslia
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Happy new year Linda,
Happy new year Linda, Brilliant poem, loved the fact it rhymed so lovely too, good luck in comp
take care
Keep Smiling
Keep Writing xxx
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This seems fairy-like and
This seems fairy-like and ethereal, Linda. A most delicate piece with otherworldly tones in with the seasons. (Otherworldy is a word, just invented it.)
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