POEM OF THE WEEK: I know it’s October but the feeling captured in this poem by David Budbill is good for all times, yes, but especially for the months of poignant autumn.
A Mid-September Pot of Flowers
Overflowing, hanging off the edge, out and down,
a mid-September pot of flowers on the porch
railing doesn’t know—or doesn’t care—its life is almost over.
Hundreds of little petunia blossoms, five fused fuchsia
petals with deep set, bright yellow centres, the kind
right now a honeybee—from our neighbours’ hives—
climbs right into and almost disappears.
Then suddenly a humming bird—not one of ours; they
have gone, but a migrant, transient, just stopping by
for a quick snack on its way to South America.
In the pot also a few bright yellow pansies. Nearby its
cousin, purple, yellow, and almost white—Johnny Jump-
Ups, the perfect name for this volunteer, come-from-out-
Oh! look, see, what’s here!
So beautiful, so temporary,
like you and me.