POETRY

Spring

The scents of childhood, how dear
clear as our memories gallop back the years.

We love them,
endeared we are by flavors,
odors of pastries, sweets,cinnamon,
cloves, caramels still our recollecting,
Sear our yesteryears.

The yellow mellow marigolds grew bunches
among rocks - the garden -along the garage way;
as did petunias, green leaves and midget cacti.
The marigolds abounding,
surrounding each stone.

Who turned all to sand?
Mephisto I dare not say;
Perhaps, the Charybdis with dry winds
or all became an Aesopian dream.
I wish to look again, my love, at them.
The years of yore that lie beyond.

j.a.canto, MBA