The jewel weed is blooming
In the late summer field.
It's strangely sad that sweltering days
are coming to a chilly end,
Like a love affair that smolders
with desires and resentments,
Kept in teetering balance
Till the tipping point comes sure as bills.
And what once filled the dancing heart
Now spills ashes on the floor.
But while the jewel weed still blooms,
The lingering high sun brings to blossom
what could be,
Then rolls downhill to the icy cold
of what will be.
Poetry has the last word.