Outside My Windiw Xv Poem by Frank Avon

Then there was color.

Day has broken.
It's September summer.

What under the full moon
had been black silhouettes
awash with faint white light,

are now a last splash
of summer,
its abundance:

orange of the cosmos,
blue of asters,
the reds mottled with
pink and yellow of Joseph's Coat,
the crimson rose
called Mr. Lincoln,
hard by the sharp red and white
of the Fourth of July,
the fleshy white of
the New Dawn climbers,
the abounding
yellows and oranges,
pinks and russets
of marigolds and zinnias,
the delicate white
Star of David
and a few stragglers
among the daisies,
the fading pink of
the potted polka dots,
and the scarlet
of the leggy impatiens,
the tawny dark
of the black elephant's ear
across the driveway
with the neighbors'
tall, tall pink roses
towering above everything
(in spite of being
uncared for, untended) ,
and then in early bloom
the autumnal lavendar
of purple chrysanthemums,

and all around, everywhere,
green, green, green,
from the yellowish green
of the fading flags,
to the forest green
of the Norway spruce,
the profuse green
of the wisteria
flinging itself into the air,
refusing to bloom
till its own good time,
the leaning sugar maple,
thrusting itself upward
toward sunlight,
foliage and grass fresh
from watering,
a yellow butterfly
fluttering by....

a living rainbow
around me,
carpeting the ground,
still brown below,
opening up to the
graying sky above -

September summer
its abundance.