speaking pink against the
golden leaves and somber skies
of autumn, dares to summon
florid summer, when bees hummed
and clung to sunflowers
heavy with black seed.
Now, those fuschia blooms
feel out of place, the awkward guest
who fails to follow polite expectations,
because through contrast she whispers
winter is coming
into unwilling ears.
This year instead of pink the last two are a fiery red and an elegant white .