Then wear the gold hat, if that will move her;Thomas Parke D’Invilliers
If you can bounce high, bounce for her too,
Till she cry “Lover, gold-hatted, high-bouncing lover,
I must have you!”
It was Summer. Summer was the culprit, for making life seem bigger, brighter, merrier.
It was Summer. Summer made the days longer so the golden rays on your auburn eyes could teem with life. Summer made the air sweeter and the sky purpler, and summer made it seem like it would never end.
And so, as our forlorn souls pushed through to match the gaiety around, ‘It was Summer,’ I said. But Summer did end.
Then, I realised, it wasn’t about seasons, it was the self. As the Sun kissed a quarter her forehead, half her lips, a cheek and an eye-
And although it was an autumn morning, the perfect balance never seemed more precarious and sly.
We were living on the edge, but not ruthlessly.
We were living on the edge in the most delicate manner possible… utmost poise and attention to detail. Gleaming faces and happiness, and having not a care in the world, for it was a life well lived.
We were living on the edge. And we should all live on the edge.
Those were forgiving times.
© achillesheelpoetry, 2022