It was the fragrance, really,
Mixed in with the Spring that never
Arrived, the fragrance of an
Offer I had not asked for much
The scent reminds me of a former
Self and that both mine and yours
Has grown in their own remedied ways;
How we have adjusted to the
Angles at which the Sun stands
And the shadows it throws our way.
And so the fragrance is
Something of a downer –
A rain-for-days-on-end type event
Where inside I am confined
Or to the outside should I go, trying
To remain unwet between
The cold drops.
Fragrances come nonetheless
Where inbetween mid-day
Daydreams I find myself saying
Come what may, my Autumn is
No more than a long Summer away.