Seasons

The calendar is thinner,
Tomorrow is in there, somewhere.
And yet, I don’t feel the chills of winter.
I don’t want my leaves to tear.
At first, I thought I wouldn’t care
The oranges and yellows were not the plan.
I wished for reds and reds to spare.
Still, I hold on to each of them as tightly as I can.

Most already rest on the floor.
The breeze takes them away anyway.
My mistake for expecting more,
I thought this time they would stay.
Now here I am, exposed, naked, grey.
I know, I should just let them go.
It’s for your own good, they say.
Today, I’m already covered in snow.

Time and I no longer move
Stiffened by the white cold.
I’ll always have something to prove.
The bright sunlight gives me hope.
Slowly, I’m back and bold
My leaves are golden green.
It will not last forever, I’m told
But they’re happy to be seen.

Rumbling with the winds,
Showers ‘n flowers came ‘n went.
Showing me my sorrows and sins
Some branches broke, others bent.
My roots are stiff, my edges, spent.
There’s much more to learn
But this sunburn is different.
Will the red leaves ever return?

©Mayra Gomes. All rights reserved.