‘Tis the end of August, my heart fills with delight
This Summer will end with colour and height
What is this beauty so striking and proud?
Her spine so straight, her colours so loud.
I’m a ‘Glad’ you shout; metaphorically of course
I wish! – a vocal flower would be a powerful force
But your strength your grace your presence divine
Unhindered by drought held up with some twine
She’s twelve inches I swear
two fold that in fact
Her magnificent petals
The reds, the pinks, the purples and greens
Attached by a thread, slight and unseen
She’s sturdy I muse, strong and devout
No wind or rain will clear you out
Just me, your planter, your admirer so dear
Will cut you down all too soon you fear.
I love your blooms
In my house they belong
They cheer up my kitchen
They look like a song
The birds will miss you
The Hummers for sure
As they often come by
to feed and procure
Procure I say, tis a joke you know
its your pollen they want; nectar to-go
So you see my dear friends
The joy that you bring
Is honest and sweet
And will return in the Spring.