The last rose relinquishes its tender pink light,
Her sweetness over-come by first frost,
The haphazard blow ending paradise,
Life strewn carelessly upon the earth.
Fall is too twisty, too full of defeat for pink…anything.
We are devil-clad in reds and burning orange
Colors that shimmer under early night shadow,
Days of vibrant death.
Hard for soft summer bodies not to sigh,
Still dressed for night’s of sumptuous heat.
Regret pulls us toward early-lit windows
To unpack the eiderdown, covering rose-bud sheets.