You were the smell
of the first fired wood stove
at the first crisp
of Autumn. You were the smell
of Spring's first rain. You
were the orange glow
of s night snow in the dead
of Winter, you were the
sleepless night before
a Christmas morning.
You were Summer's first thunder,
and final flash of
lightning.
You were , you are
all I've ever looked forward
to.
                                                                                               Jon York   2019