Evelyn Judy Buehler

March 18, 1953 - Chicago
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I was a learned meteorologist, studying azure atmosphere and vivid weather,
To give a prophetic daily forecast, like bees gliding remote locales of heather.

Often I had to issue advisories and warnings, like a jumbo roar of yellow lion,
So plans could be made and trouble avoided, until a new, lemon-gold horizon.

I also gathered much data to share, like enlightening ambles in green nature,
Where each beauty bloom's a true eyeopener, maroon scented ones so major!

Forests wore foxgloves, freesia and forget-me-nots, and friends came to call,
In days that died a smoky orange, after the summertime slow, colorful crawl.

I enjoyed being prepared for weather, like flaming sunset, redbird migrations,
When frisky squirrels are hoarding acorns, and trees wear colorful variations.

My fond family members were foodies, in backyard barbecues of blossoming,
Each magenta time, memory in the making, like lily scent, an awesome thing!

I lived in the house of raptness, and change trended by every glazed window,
In the bold, fashionable colors of the day, like a dappled dawn's dreamy intro.

Sparklers glittered like astral sapphires, at noisy, confetti street celebrations.
Like seagulls screeching flight elation, or cheerful crickets' twilight jubilations!

Narrative neighbors nibbled nectarines, when ruddy, amber nights were new,
Always willing to lend an attentive ear, or to express the fervent point of view.

Like the wide river that ponders the falls, before remarking in the hiss of mist;
Or as a dreamless moon ponders all night, until dying from plum, sunrise kiss.

Sultry summer had come at last, a laughing guest at every door and window;
Like scents drifting everyplace at once, until black shrouded moon, the widow.

One day the wind was absolutely relentless, whipping me anywhere I turned;
And when my favorite hat was lost in gales, for wild winds to die, I yearned!

Then came a sudden hush and the stillness, like being engulfed in coral mist.
Though it's lovely, vague unease persists, for the exotic sights we've missed!

No sweet wind to tickle and caress, nor an overbearing one to push and pull;
Like lemony skies bereft of sunshine, and of mellowed clouds like lambs' wool.

The tragedy of summer was unfolding fast, to my grief and passionate regret;
And I fervently wished I'd never had the wish, like gold noon, not arrived yet.

Time promptly skipped a rhythmic beat, and breezes played in my hair again;
Like an old friend you're elated to see, coming down familiar, Old Rose Lane!
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