in the grandest scheme
a flower is a flower
and nothing more
to be admired or consumed
or each in turn (just
as every summer unwinds
its end season
into season to run
the perennial course,
and the tallest flowers
whither and bend
as fields of yellow
which once impressed
shrivel to brown
and then into dust)
yet i can’t help thinking
as daylight fades
of what will become of us
now face to face
with primordial change
when there’s nothing
left to trust.
