When the seasons change
When the summer ends
In shades of soft pink and pale blue on white,
I think of the peasant blouse you wore
That made you look like a gypsy flag
Or a table cloth
Or a warm roll folded in a napkin.
What I remember most
When August leaves me stupid with daylight,
Is how easily it slipped off
Like a soul in an upward breeze.
Burberry Ice was your fragrance,
Motorcycle grease your marker,
And oh how alike
Can be a small snarl or a knowing laugh.
Summer got old a long time ago,
And these things that used to thrill, I've done a million times.
If it isn't forbidden,
If it isn't dying,
Then as the autumn comes on, I have my books and my Coke with lime.
Still, I look for you by the roadside,
Covered with dust,
On your way some place,
Happier Blue, patroness of the disappearing morning.
Forgive me, Rita, for borrowing your moniker. I think it suits any gypsy, don't you?