Be my autumn

To my beloved wife, the one and only love of my life.

Be my autumn

In remembrance of the old romantic poetry

 

Be my autumn,

On Bloomfield Avenue

where roses stroll unhindered through the winter

remembering the madrigal of spring’s fresh grass,

As October blooms into November

with the yearning of a seasons’ changing,

You hold me under your umbrella

embroidered into lace and tumbled leaves.

You sing the cry of naked trees

scarves of winter breezes on their branches

in which the larks nest their memories

of how two lovers promenade

the bricks of Bloomfield Avenue.