Born to bloom then die

A seasons end, another's start , an old fellas view on both

One final cut, then mower stowed
the gardens borders tilled,
winter blooms placed neat in rows
'neath air now damp and stilled.

On terracotta throne the rose
a queen without her crown,
sits forlorn, stark, 'gainst watered light
all petals withered, brown.

A brazier, smoke skyward sent
as summers last burns slow,
beneath the boughs of leaf stripped trees
readied now for coming snow.

The garden bleak all colour shorn
the gardener gave a sigh,
" nature, man, have briefest lives
both born to bloom, then die "

Author's Note

Hopefully okay

Reviews

[Papaya]

More than ok. I really liked this one.

[Gee]

Thank you kindly

[Maria12]

I like your vivid imagery and I agree life is so short,we suffer loss,we die yet we must enjoy the times when we can.A very good poem.

[Gee]

Thank you Mary

[Lorry]

You capture the changing of the seasons perfectly here Gee, both for nature and wo(man)...Can't leave those ladies out :)
Such a soft and wistful write, which fits perfectly with the changing of the seasons and the changing scenery in your garden. Whether man, woman or nature, we all have to ready ourselves for the coming harshness, until it all begins and ends once more.
Excellent write.

[Gee]

Appreciated as always, cheers Nemo

[Coyote Poetry]

I liked this poem and I agree.
"The garden bleak, all colour shorn,
the gardener gave a sigh,
" nature, man, have briefest lives,
both born to bloom, then die "
I have been telling people, my father's logic. "You must be born and you must die. What matters is what you do in between." Thank you Gee for sharing the excellent poetry.
Coyote

[Gee]

Indeed, it is what takes place in the hyphen between the two dates that will shape how we are remembered. Thank you for taking the time to read and comment

[Coyote Poetry]

I agree and you are welcome.