The last of summer gardening ends. <br />Hoe and trowel, knee pad and sunbonnet <br />Hang in the shed with the shears. <br />The final petals of the rose have fallen, <br />Leaving rose hips, <br />Like tiny crabapples <br />With a crown of rumpled hair <br />And calyx now dry and stiff <br />As a starched collar <br />Trying to hide the crimson berry <br />That stands erect upon the high <br />Seat of the peduncle. <br /> <br />I gather these petals for a sachet pillow, <br />And press them in books <br />To mark the poems I love <br />With summer's fingerprints. <br />Then make my tea with those rose hip <br />Berries and honey, <br />The last taste of the season.<br /><br />Lillian Susan Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/leaving-rose-hips/
