In the Spring of her life,
she held the buttercup beneath her chin
to see if she liked butter.
In busy, happy days she threaded daisies
and gave delicate necklaces in friendship.
In the Summer of her life,
she birthed her babies with her lover
and found the meaning of commitment,
like Irises that share their beauty
each year in generous bounty.
In the Autumn of her life,
her hair turned from Auburn brown to slate.
Movements slowed and pained,
like leaves that drift to the ground
and carpet it with rust.
In the Winter of her life,
her skin furrowed with deep crevices,
like the earth ploughed for the coming year.
New seeds are waiting to be sown
and she thinks in fondness of the Spring.