The glads, the glads
have gone to sads
I always stake too late
Too much at stake
Too much to stake
So hot
Unmowed knotted green lot
The phlox, big topped
White and withering, flops
New crops of coreops is too bright
But what a rose last night can still delight
I weed and weed
I gather with greed
Anything with color
Doesn't have to match at all
It is almost time --
mums the word
But the hour does fall.