The garden at Lammas

The last remnants rock
Their blouses are torn
And lots of dry seed heads
Warn of a new dawn
Lammas time beckons the mints look a treat
Providing their fervour
For the salads I eat

The last of the Buttercups open
To eyes
The strawberry flowers
A pink flush of the wise
More fruit for next season
The chives too look dry
Their heads going brown
In the wink of an eye

Jasmine its delicate perfume
And flower
Really at even tide
Gives off some power
Captures the senses
With it’s utter repose
With its flowers open wide
Attracting my nose

The olfactory dancers
Through senses of time
Create the sweet breaths
That apparently climb
Lost in their world of clutter and grace
Left by itself and the wide human race
Sunlight creates colour
And, mtransformation
It hangs in the sky
And becomes our salvation

Plants in dry soils
Needing sustenance still
Who may feel neglected
And certainly will
Miss the display of plants in the field
Who may have been shocked by the glyphosate build
An unnatural sickle
To cut them and kill
The chance of the last dance
That now never will

Happen alas can you hear them cry out
The want of the Flyers
Who hardly now doubt
The drones of commitment
The silence of sin
MOnsanto the monster is cutting things thin

He is changing the naturalness
Drawing the true
Faking the preciousness
With most clueless to
The laboratorial adjustments to time
Where once We had a meadow
now just pits of slime

An ugly morass
With such fetid ooze
No life forms to speak of
Which is terrible news
The light forms were banished
The darkness evolved
The toxins sprung forth
And became the new gold