I am done
Writing you poetry
Like the summer 
Turning to fall
The flowers not
Picked will lose
Their lovely buds
Be pruned back
Mulched and covered
Hopefully warding off
The winters dark
They’re still there
But hardly noticed
Hopefully bouncing back
Full of promises
Come springtime when
Someone else will
Admire us both
Me the gardener
You the blossom
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 