Green Lace
Goldenrod tips begin to curve,
Holding their pollen in reserve.
Wispy tendrils reach for the skies
To wait for bees and butterflies.
Not yet a bright and yellow flame,
But they’re whispering autumn’s name.
The little buds are packed in tight,
Preparing for their golden light.
Bees and wasps and hornets will meet,
To taste its pollen gold and sweet.
But now they rest in sleepy grace,
A green lace in the garden space.
’Til next time, y’all…
Leave a Reply