Stilly the Flow'r is Dying...

Stilly, the flow’r is dying

Spring’s feathery first-fruit

Under bare branch are lying

Returning to its root

Stilly the hours are garnered

To Storehouses of Time

Its rivers running rampant

Abhorrent with sublime

Stilly, autumn is waning

The brook cradles its grief

The breeze, a somber maiden

Severing limb from leaf

Surely, hearts are a garden

For as life’s seasons pass

Stilly its petals gather

Where memories amass

© Janet Martin

My day did not turn out as I thought it would. Due to an unexpected visit to the Dr. with Matt (nothing serious) and then car trouble on the way home (our mechanic is a few doors down from us:-) I did not make it to my friend's mom's funeral. Instead Matt and I began trimming away the tired blooms in front of the house.