The wretched heat of the sun,
Turns everything brown in its’ wake.
Draining the brilliant green leaves,
From a vibrancy of life,
To something lost.
Was it the heat of the day that cures,
These foliage as they cook
In the middays sun?
Every scent of summer
Speaks of how quickly it will pass.
Not yet the flowers scream,
we’re still blooming.
Our scent is not for you
It brings the bees to our side.
To make sure our offspring emerge,
To decorate next years fields.
The days are losing light,
By the minute by the hour.
Our petals will drop,
We will expire not yet,
We cry in the blistering heat.
When Autumn does blow its’ chilling wind,
We know that the time is near.
To let go of what was once our beauty.
Reflecting on the seasons joy,
The bees that came to leave,
for the next blossoming trillium.
The moments spent being tickled,
The feet seeking nectar in our center.
Leaving scant traces of another,
As a reminder that to grow and flourish,
The mingling of experiences is not singular
Or confined to One.
Treasures and blessings come from many,
Gathered on the foot of those splendid moments,
Scarcely sprinkled in the midst,
Of days too short with darkening skies.