The Mediator

I spit across you
   into the eye of winter,
O' mediator 'twixt it, and summer.

Coy, and full of heraldry
       you are
with your fanfare stains of oranges
       and golds---

I shall not give up my flowers
       but will concede
on your temperatures.

I see winter there, licking its lips,
       one fang-tip exposed
in a salivating peep show.......waiting....

You always let that wolf in, coward !

Drop your leaves and run
       (like always)
leaving me standing on the shorelines
until the last breath of warmth
       sputters from your lungs.

I have my memories stored up
       like treasures
and I shall pluck my seeds
then plant them
       (where you can't see them )
before you are gone .

They'll bloom back before you will
       (traitor....)