Sun-singed summer rose,
I remember luscious days those
when your spring-kissed smile
rose over all hate and vile,
Thy buxom, fresh, healthy
petals laden with dew
whereupon well-fed butterflies flew,
Fragrance carrying mystical clew,
That was then
the spring was at its peak when,
Now the very air on fire,
Waters gone to sire
rain somewhere else,
While here the fiery summer yells.
Here you stand in June heat,
Singed, burnt with a feeble greet,
The heat can’t beat
and eat
the essential core of your smile
with her fiery guile,
Though beaten, shaken and
pushed against the wall,
you still avoid the final fall
and flash the call
of your essential nature,
and behold the dim beacon
of beauty with a proud stature.
You still carry a smile feeble,
The once big stream reduced to a dribble,
But still it mans the post,
And avoids a complete, fiery roast,
Your small, dull pink, sun-lynched flowers
still hold the chance of beauty and showers
and raise a toast
with a defiant boast
for the dew-kissed autumnal nights
drenched with misty delights,
These fragile little smiles and petals
in the pit of fire
will sire
the blossoms all rosy
enjoying the climes all cozy,
They are like
the surviving columns of army,
Holding their little petalous sabres
against the fiery onslaught swarmy,
The will to survive against a total rout
with their rebellious shout,
They won’t be out
till the rains reach home,
And cool nights return
after the other hemisphere’s roam.
I call these the flowers in the fire,
Adamant beauty with a challenge dire,
Smile will win over fury and fire,
Another spring awaits
with its full blossomed baits.