by Richard Vince

She wore her first summer dress
Of the year as a challenge to
February; in defiance of the last
Throes of fading winter.

It was the mildest evening
There had been since the leaves
Grew old and withered, yet I still
Wore gloves and a woolly hat,
More out of habit than anything else.

She still wore a coat, but the dress
Beneath it was woven from
The threads of long, balmy evenings
And lingering sunsets. She carried
With her a small oasis of summer
In the desert of bare trees.

Seeing her made me want to shed
My winter skin: all the sartorial
Concessions I make to cold, dark days.

Perhaps she will be back to scarves
And thicker fabrics tomorrow. If she is,
I don’t care: the spell is broken, and
Soon the days will be long again.


Posted on 04/20/2014
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince

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