When the Garden Lets Itself Go

This is what happens
after pink camellias
have dropped their pale skirts
and silvery wallflowers
seed into wreckage.

I reel bare honeysuckle,
unwind sweet pea debris
from lush summer's
now-invisible trellis,
haul down leafless vines
like a derelict schooner's
ghostly sail rigging.

Burning marigold coals
wink out and die
within frost's icy ashes.
Take me to: In the Chapel of Night

Last Update: 04/17/97
Web Author: Jennifer Lagier