Woo me not dear boy,
With the pale hues of Spring.
In those faded pinks,
Nowhere would I be seen,
Nor in muted yellow and washed out greens.
They are but premonitions
of what is yet to be.
Do not court me good Sir,
with the rose reds of June
Nor the strident blues
of a hot July noon.
Long let them bake in the summer sun,
They are but harbingers
of what is yet to come.
Pursue me in the fall, my lord,
when I kneel in grass of emerald green.
Lay your cloak of molten gold
and your ruby heart at my feet
and be caught in the amber of my soul.
Vows exchanged 'neath sapphire skys
are worthy of jesters and of kings.
Yours, I will be, until the year falls away,
And then I must change my gown.
For the harlequin hues will fade to rust
And all color is one in the waning day,
nothing left but shades of brown.
Then dressed in silver, white and grey
I will put on Winter's crown.
