In the morning, when

I open the door to see

what delights the day brings,

there you are, pale peach,

peeping up through pink 

and yellow coneflowers

swaying in the soft breeze.

You are the last lily of summer,

not as delicate as the 

graceful, lacy-edged one

or the one whose sunny

gold warmed my heart

or the one with fire-engine

red petals shouting for attention.

But now, there you are

bidding me farewell as your

leaves and stalk turn brown,

reminding me that beauty is

fleeting and that what lives

must always come to an end. 

I would like to have one last

cycle of blooming before 

my time is up, and then I will

make way for those who

will grow from my roots

and discover the beauty

that will sustain them

during their own lives.