The petals are sodden,
edges frayed—stigma
shriveled like melted wax,
stems falling in heaps—
blurring my memory of
June flowers.
Long drafts of rain and
overcast skies have shrunk
the joys of aerating, mulching
and appreciating my garden
and brought us back to
overcoat weather.
In these last decades of life,
dark evil thoughts fill my
brain at the loss of each
summer day that should
have been—each sunlit hour
that never came.
