Roses in Late Summer (year 1 re-write)

The golden roses, will fade into dull browns, 

Soon, as the season drags out for now,

late noons gazing polaroid perfect clouds, 

sun oozing its innards across the sky’s brow.

And feel the last lulling rays of heat,

emerald green grass, lay in retreat. 

Rolling car windows down all the way,

to spend freedom far from comfort’s cage.

I suppose, I should, would, could. box away.

Memories for nostalgia, for colder days 

for nights buried under snow, for textbook daze.

Grab the stem, cut away

Flower for another day

Pressed between pages dried in array

Flower for another day

In summer damask, the scarborough fair, a golden celebration rose.