Garden show

gardens like people need care

I remembered as I looked,
Times in the summer sun,
As light flicked over,
Turning yellow to gold.
Evidence of faultless care,
From hands spending hours there.
Heads held high,
Their trumpet call to sound,
Handing out their calling card
To those passing near.
Proudly swaying in the wind
Yet resisting times pressure
On their stems.
Looking across time,
Beauty stands forlorn.
Time its constant foe,
Laying low,
Under a carpet of wilder growth.

So I shed a tear
For times now passed
As under the weeds
The garden,it remains