Came tumbling down the hill,
just as spring bounced in,
smelled the freshly mown grass,
saw flowers springing from the ground,
then I turned around
and summer was before me.
The bees were buzzing,
the flowery scent in the air,
hardly dared to breathe –
so, all the beauty wouldn’t disappear.
Birds trilling in the trees,
jasmine scented nights,
of shimmering stars –
the moon beaming from afar.
Over the top of the hill,
tumbling down the other side,
what a wild ride,
down at the foot,
there I now sit,
wondering where summer is going
and why fall is not far behind.
Dizzy with euphoria,
it felt like I had just gone –
round a revolving door.
Just saw a pair of storks,
packing for the south,
leaving their nest –
afraid of catching early frosts come September.
Once again round a revolving door –
stepping into autumn once more.
Soon I’ll be gazing at trees with flaming treetops,
as leaves change to gold, orange and red.
Then I always want to spread my arms,
catch the colder winds
and dance along with the swirling leaves.
Still, in my heart, there is sorrow,
with each new morrow –
at the end of each summer.
Wasn’t I just heading into spring,
now going out summer’s back door.
What is it all for?
like spinning round –
a revolving door.
For more works by this author see Rasma Raisters on The Creative Exiles.
Rasma also writes lovely poems on HubPages under the pen name of Gypsy Rose Lee. You can read more of her works at Rasma on HubPages.