Flowers that died

Now they are lovely,
these roses?
No, but be glad they
shine now, early this
summer, floating,
breezily as night comes,
resting, white, yellow,
hybrid but still pure.

A torrid wind, heat
evaporation, and nary
a soul cares the world
as night passes day,
takes long pauses as
curses fly across to
warn of impending doom.

Yes they said as much -
or at least they dared
the brilliance of heroes
who paved before -
reds, again, petunias
chosen for gawking
visitors, or none will wake.

Fewer still they bob heads,
branches flower to crisp grey
stalks, wilting slowly with
amber, looking for green
but finding nothing,
they gasp - incapable
of frugal times, heading away
saying goodbye to genius.

© 2013 Larry Ingram