The fireflies have barely winked their neon green
when the tiny tulips 
in their orange flame skirts
have fallen from the arms of the yellow poplar.

The rododendron petals have fallen, too, 
leaving clumps of pea-like pods 
and brown shafts.

Not long ago, 
the flowering pear showered 
its flurry of snowy blossoms

and the pink bunched crepe paper 
flowers of the cherry tree 
drifted down, exposing

dark scarred bark
 and gnarled branches.
Just beyond the adamant

white bloom of the Korean Dogwood, 
the pines will begin to drop 
their dried needles

onto beds of shivering pachysandra 
and the impatiens, stricken by a sudden night frost,
will be felled against the spotted grass.

Hold me.