Spring came slowly that year

Dawdling over the winter gnarled earth

Snowdrops lingering tardily into late March

Colliding their white with the robust

Multi-colors of vigorous crocus

Too easily giving way to daffodil’s sharpness

April dies, as daffodils fade, failing to court

May’s new-fangled show.

And this young man seated on a park bench,

Hard as iron.

Is unaware of nature’s slow circus,

Head in tome, he studies the raw geography,

Of landforms, mountains and valleys

Preparing him for college days ahead.

He is content with the May sun that kisses his brow,

And bursts open, in startled green

The buttons on new fleshed twigs

While sparkling the waters of the clouded lake,

Not yet weed blanketed, as will happen.

Then, suddenly,

Out of all reason,

Came that day when she was there,

Later than the other Spring blooms,

Prettier than the cherry tree blossom

Blessing the vital day

Yellow coated was she, to displace the fading daffodil.

Golden haired to rival the buttercup

The young man spied her progress

On the other side of the sun-kissed lake,

As she strolled leisurely on long, lithe legs,

Lovely, to linger, laughing

At squabbling ducks.

Oh, that laughing face, so beautiful.

No love experience this young man,

So shy.

Day after day in summer’s approach,

Same time she was there, while he,

Across the lake could only ogle

As summer clothes she chose,

Revealed more skin,

And bouncing breasts under

Loose fit blouses, and thin, flowered dresses

That park bench was now rivaled for hardness

As Summer played its happy course

She came naked to his bed,

Where he applied his knowledge

Of raw geographic landscape to the perfections

Of her exquisite form as

Fingers stroked upward slopes

And smoothly reached pink-tipped peaks

Gliding down onto enticing plains

To where grasslands, and his novice ways,

Hid the luscious valley

And that secret deep, deep cave.

He awoke in his ever lonely bed,

With damp pajamas glued at thigh

So, he maintained his love-sick vigil

Modest shyness held him

As spectator, as Autumn reds and brown

Painted leaves before they tumbled

And warmer clothes now covered his love

But then his whole world crumbled.

That day she strolled, but not alone,

A tall young man, too close

This could not be,

Did his blood really run cold?

Came Winter,

And it’s icy fangs, bit deep into his bones.

Harsh studies cut park visits

Then came that Winter’s break,

He had to see, was she alone?

But no, and so much worse

They walked all snuggled closely,

And where ducks forever squabbled,

They stopped,

And kissed with ardent passion,

Tears were on the young man’s eyes,

Easy to blame winter’s churlish chiding,

And with icy crystals gripping his heart,

Deep in the Winter of his discontent

The young man strode away

That park avoided like the plague,

After many years he did return

A happy, learned man,

His lady on his arm

Two children giggled around their feet

Who was it wrote, “If Winter comes—“?