by Edward Gordon
What is it with flowers that bloom in October?
Don’t they know the fall is not sober?
They’ll die in a month, but now they will shine?
Where were they hiding in the youth of the springtime?
It’s gone passed them now; it must be too late.
All the roses and Lilies have bloomed.
All were vased and brightened up rooms,
But these purple petals and yellow ones come
Soaking up water and the last of the sun,
Like any time now is better than never,
Or a flash at the end can be worth the beauty.
…and clearly, they’re right, as I stare in fatuity.
© 2017 Edward J. Gordon. All rights reserved.