The Last Sunflower

Summer lingers.
The nights though, turn cool.
On the mountains, green turns to red,
yellow, orange.
The last sunflowers bow their heads
bright for a few final days.

There is no turning away the seasons.
Color changes.
Snow comes.
Spring returns.
The cycle is eternal.
Fight it.
Complain.
or savor it.
The changes will come

And all you can control
is what you see.
The last sunflower:
A tragedy.
Or the final gift of summer
and more glorious for it.

About this poem

No great depth to this one. Just musings as summer begins to fade. The picture was taken near by my home in West Pawlet, VT.

Tom