Monday, October 24, 2011
On Closing the Cottage
Fall's a fickle time of year
Not like summer, bold and clear,
Who keeps his promises as told
Not sometimes hot, then quickly cold.
And winter, too, will let you know,
"Get out your coat; it's going to snow
I won't warm up for quite a while
So dress to fight the frost in style."
With summer and winter, and even with spring
Your love affair is an honest thing,
But autumn's the time when you have to beware
Of a whore that can make your heart despair.
So Sonder's fort sits on the hill;
The fortress built with childhood skill,
Where he and Odin fought brave wars
With pines cone shells and aspen swords.
Abandoned ammo in a pile,
With swords they'll leave for a little while.
One autumn soon - ah, time will tell -
They'll leave their childhoods there as well.
And Larson's chin may still be wet
Where once s'mores were lapped by tongue
Between the laughs and giggles best
Appreciated by the young.
The fishing rods are in their rack.
"Don't worry, trout; I'm coming back;
I'll see you in the spring and then
We'll wage our contest once again."
The bags are packed, I've closed the pipes;
I've checked upon the space below
And boarded up the vents against
The winter winds and blowing snow.
I see her staring from the door
To where her humming birds would feed
And to the trees where jays would soar
For whom she'd kindly leave some seed.
Summer doesn't last, I know.
I sigh, "Sweetheart, it's time to go."