Last Bouquet

Morning sun shines on the worn oak table,
October is passing
But summer is paused, held, by a bouquet of flowers,
In an old glass egg-cup.

Brilliant red, golds, oranges, all variations,
Pale and bright splashes of each colour
On five translucent petals,
Painted by faeries, creative.
Their fragrance gentle, lingers.

But five degrees of frost last night guarantees —
These are the last flowers of summer.

June Maginley, October 25, 2012

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