In March the Queen came, flirting on her throne;
April, I loved her gladly,
And in May I’ll love her madly,
And in June I may act badly
For July I’ll love her sadly,
Cause when August comes, I know that she’ll be gone.

*****

This poem was just published in Rat’s Ass Review – thanks, Roderick Bates… who, in accepting it, wrote “By the way, I assume the queen is Cassiopeia, who is always visible at my latitude.” I’m happy with that interpretation; but it’s actually about the lighthearted springtime attractions that, sensibly, go nowhere.

Photo: “flirt” by cloud.shepherd is licensed under CC BY 2.0.