Squash blossoms bloom one day, then crumple, fade
before morning next comes. He watched it sit
amid squash vines, orphaned babe in lap, spade
in hand, motionless as the vines. Sun lit
its face giving it a feminine cast.
The sword slung at his hip hummed with magic
and he wondered what a plain man who’s passed
his prime ought do with such a tragic
crew. It saw him standing there, came to him,
babe cradled in its arms, with squash blossoms
in its hair, all of them spent, just like him,
their life done, their pollen gone, a handsome
bit of bright decay left to form a crown–
their hands sought, caught and held; they walked to town.
~ ~ ~
When I think of summer, I think of squash vines tangling all over my garden. 🙂 Their spent flowers are beautiful.
Prompt courtesy of: One Word Photo Challenge – Summer