By J. Speer
Youthful Summer turns to wistful Fall that leads to melancholic Winter.
All that is new ages…
Old eventually decays,
Only to rebirth in glorious Spring.
There was a girl.
Her name was Summer.
Hot like the dry blazing suns of August.
Eyes fiery, tinged with yellow flames of passion and cinnamon spice brown.
Brown like her sunkissed, silken skin.
Soft and sweet.
Lips juicy and red as a plump, ripe berry.
But it was her vivid nature,
the brilliant sway of her graceful hips,
the small curve of her waist,
the zestful way she danced with lovers in the twilight and neon glow
of the little salsa club on the south beach of the moonlit island.
The way she laughed, deep and throaty,
wholeheartedly with feeling,
the way she moved to the Cuban beats,
in a small, strapped sundress that brushed the hot breeze,
beaded sandals tapping rhythm to the sound.
Yes, there was a time.
There was a place.
There was a Summer unlike any summer before.
But youth gave way to an older woman gazing wearily out the nursing home window.
There was a girl once.
Her name was Summer.
A Summer that blazed,
A Summer that dreamed,
A Summer that lived.
And she will return again someday…
To dance, to laugh, to sing,
And to sway in love to the tempo,
to the beat.
Summer.
Eternal Summer.
Hot, hot,
Beautiful and gorgeous Summer.
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