The Cloak of Time

A poem of transformation

March winds
blow the cloak of time forward
and carries
the faint aroma of sage
to my hungry nostrils.

I
am no longer the maiden
strolling leisurely
through rose bordered paths
of love.

Time's cape
has transformed
the bride of spring
into the wise matriarch,
striding confidently
through love's garden.

At the gate,
I pause to watch moonrise
above a distant snow capped peak
then I step through the gate
leaving
a portrait of myself
in the minds
of those I left behind.