past its peak
leaves old and brown and brittle,
but beautiful
*
in a short life
summer’s sunflower darkens,
deep autumn
*
how tall it stands
standing like an old scarecrow—
is it lonely?
At times, thoughts keep rolling in. My first thought: ‘beautiful.’ I wanted to climb over the fence, reach out a gentle hug and whisper, ‘there, there, things will be better tomorrow.’ 🤗
