Episodic Tremors

There are episodic tremors around,
The ones that shake my world,
Of flowers in a garden bed,
Showing colours meant for summer,
At sight you seek the warmth,
Only to feel the cold blast of winter,
This it seems should not be,
But that is what it is.

I sought the embrace of another,
Indeed I thought a lover,
And I was made to hover,
For what I felt was not to consider,
The rebuff was that of niceness,
Not that it was from my likeness,
To appear in all fairness,
A matter not ready to address.

A whisper, a chatter, a talk,
Just when we took a walk,
And was I now to balk?
When the subject loomed like a hawk.
Then I asked of she who had left,
of minds that once were cleft,
They closed the door and left,
As if they with us were bereft.