Outside My Window Xiii Poem by Frank Avon

Summer is a-flourishing
just as summer is a-finishing.

It's September outside
and chilly.

The goldfinch have departed,
the golden cosmos has bloomed itself out.

Still there's a rash of color
a-blowing in the wind:

zinnias, marigolds, impatiens,
one giant hibiscus, still insistent

the blue of asters reminiscent
of bachelor's buttons earlier

and green, green, green,
the wisteria tendrils a-stretching,

the black elephant's ear (really bronze)
leaning weightily toward the black petunias -

a-flourishing
a-finishing,

persistent
in its energy.

Just beyond the pane
reaching skyward

a branch of our climbing rose,
Joseph's Coat of Many Colors,

has shot out at its apex
twelve tiny buds,

at its finish, something summery
about to spring.