To Fall Poem by Morgan Michaels

The light is chill silver, the soil, dry-
but for what wet the rain supplies.
No longer arched by such an azure sky
our garden's now a snarl of memories.
The sun-flowers cease to unfold
their glorias and the phlox its homo factus
Gone, the doughtiest marigold
and all the small, red clarions on the cactus.
Just one cosmos and one blue morning-glory
lean on the rail and chat philosophically,
about the old days before life got strange.
Says one'do you think it's true, the story,
that, come the Spring, we'll rise again, the same?
'I dunno, mum. We need to wait and see'.