March June – Come in…
With apologies to Ms. Dickinson
Dear June – Don’t stand at the door
Do come in. You are always welcome,
Unlike March who came in unannounced
And stayed late till May
I had hoped she would stay out a bit late
And may be let me enjoy the left-about chill
February had forgotten, for some more time but –
She came in early anyway, and took over
April and May.
I wouldn’t have recognized you, either
But for the hints of July showers.
So, my dear, I shan’t serenade you
with longings for purple and poems
Or complaints that lovers hide under lips
To tempt, tease and seduce. My lips, once again
Have stayed out late, arguing with April and May
Or should I say silhouettes of March…
And you know who… Or hadn’t you noticed?
Of course, you came in long after the sun.
I suppose I should tell you that I like my sun
Like I liked my dogs – far, far. Far away and secluded.
I once told March that, but it fell on deaf ears
I wish I had missed you more
But the last year was spent counting stars and trees
And envying the flight of birds from behind bars
And baking bread and writing poems – So, you see, June,
the only seasons I enjoyed last year was Vivaldi.
It’s almost like you never went away– wait?
Who knocks? Oh yes, Dear old July… always impetuous
The door is open, but take your time – I’m bronzed;
At leisure enjoying the last gold of mangoes and sun.
Dear June, when all the jazz and hullaballoo of July is over
Do have a word with March – Ask her to take a vacation
I shall miss her just as fervently as I miss you – or will I?
Will I appreciate your autumnal beauty without her sun?
And what of the Sun tinted mangoes?
Perhaps June, you’ll simply just walk in
And ignore my Mad-March-monologue – by now
Realizing that wishing is just as pointless as wanting
And my wanton wanting is just mere wishing.