Bright yellow snapdragons falling apart
All over the ground like garbage
Setting the stage for the flowers I hate
That come to take summer away

Various asters, you weird, clustered daisies,
Atop tall stems ungainly
Bent like urine streams (old men's mainly)
Crowd the paths and roadsides vainly
Like bride's maids blighted at a fat whore's wedding...
Don't tell me my summer sun is setting.

And goldenrod? Meadow moron! Dumb balloon!
Among the chalk-whiteness of Queen Anne's lace
You look like fillings in an old hag's teeth
With bad breath and a sagging face.
No wonder you make eyes water and people wheeze
Don't take summer from me.

And phlox? Not "flox"?
A pox on you phlox and on how you spell
Your stupid name.
So near the summer's end acting stately and serene
(Like puffy clouds drifting) but really downright mean--
A friend you are not.
Your different colors...(Are you tring to fit in?)
Why don't you go away and rot?

And monkshood? Mutant dephinium!
Sinful minister sanctimonious
In purple robes sinister
I'm not in the mood for your prelude
So don't bother to bloom, exalted, poisonous and silent.
Some call you "wolfsbane"
Well, just keep it up wolfsbane, and I might touch you
With a little flame.

You flowers march in droves across the meadows
And line the woodland trails under the trees
With your sordid shapes and wretched hues
Like a disease coming to claim summer.
Halt your advance, I command
And give an old man (who's paid his dues)
A chance to enjoy the season
Just a little longer.