Once Spring danced like wild flowers in the wind,
held dew and promise and wore the colors of her heart like jewels
She hadn’t heard the word defeat and didn’t know hate or anger.
Spring liked to play and romp and sing and
hung her question on a tree to ripen – Why?
Summer took herself seriously, was wide-eyed with longing, sizzling in the sun.
She wore a red dress and the champagne happiness of a husband and baby
She had reckless courage because Summer is young and youth is bold,
a silver bell that rings and rings and never stops.
Too much is not enough and still that tremulous – Why?
Autumn gently smiled, like Da Vinci’s lady, and danced old dances,
reminisced Begin the Beguine, stepping lightly on dry leaves.
Autumn was lined with gold and muted silks, remembered her manners,
nodded wisely, spoke sagaciously, and was a might too profound.
Haughty with herself, she just knew she knew Why?
Winter is a season content to see herself in time displaced,
knows though fleshy bonds and boundaries dissolve, life -
like heart – has its reasons that reason doesn’t know* . . .
Sanguine and serene, it’s just a habit now, that old question Why?
* after Blaise Pascal, “The heart has its reasons, which reason does not know. We feel it in a thousand things. It is the heart which experiences God, and not the reason. This, then, is faith: God felt by the heart, not by the reason.”
2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved, licensing for online publications is nonnegotiable and requires permission, attribution, link to this site, my copyright, no modification, noncommercial only and does not imply permission to include the work in the site’s printed collections or anthologies.
Photo credit ~ John Witherspoon, Public Domain Pictures.net