She sits in the window seat and sighs
wondering what malarkey would have
such cool gray shades of the overcast day
dull the warm hues that should be autumn
Her front lawn only a sliver off
the near gaudy emerald of summer
was still a vibrant green

A spring green she thinks

Spring when everything begins
with summer’s long stemmed promises
only to fall — the beginning of the end
an early trespass to winter

Nor does the contrast
of the blood red dianthus
against the bright white
of Queen Anne’s Lace escape her

Now past their prime
their wilted blooms too heavy
for their aged jade stems
like an unhanded puppet
leaned over in resolute defeat
to the inevitable

She reaches out in comfort
She reaches out for comfort
to the hands and the heavy heart
that shares all she feels now
as the back the door opens

The only pleasantry being the smile
that quickly departs his face
as wife and mistress turn to him
fingers interlaced, hearts ripped open
Fate catching them as off guard
as they have caught him now

In the quiet before…

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