Summers Red Skirt Endings

The scent of the lilac, rubbing shoulders with
the apple mint and golden thyme before arrives
the late of summer's days.
With the bowed boughs, of the blossom trees, honeyed
in the fragile husk, of the evenings setting light  

Where stands to nod
the kings and queens, of the roses fading fast, who  long time fatiqued
in their once summer youth of stately prime.
Of, those tall cut flowers
with their colours loud, that grace
the crystal vase.

Swallows feasting belly full, whilst
the summer's sky, she still is blue.
And on the wind that stirs the creatures rise, the poppies red
they cast away their delicate skirts
with nothing outside, an enobled sigh, each
keeping hunkered close -
their seeds of next years birth...