Summer is over, with a field of flowers left to die

That were never humble, but seeking recognition

All are now sharing a hopeless tainted brown hue

Remains of a late autumn sky,, trying to stay blue

All abandoned, and no reason for such a decision

And in silence, each are asking the question, why

All their yellow has faded, also beds of black seeds

Set in a spiral and always a mathematicians delight

But now, all still standing like a disappointed throng

Being left to heartless winter, and a predictable rot

Their display meant for the sunshine, not pale light

Soon, perhaps after seasonal rains, joined by weeds

They are no longer any inspiration to artist or poet

At least someone can surely remember their beauty

With hope, perhaps someone might yet be inspired

But now it is a field with all appearing sad and tired

To greet the day with smiles was always their duty

But their fate is now sealed, and all clearly know it

Howard Osborne is a UK citizen, retired. Published author of non-fiction reference book, scientific papers and poetry. Interests mainly creative writing (poetry, novel, short stories, songs and scripts), music and travel.