As the summer takes its will,
and foliage breaks its flush,

our dust edges come alive
thinning from there summer bloom
as black eyes seek the sun,

while cunning beaks take free feeds,
crown’s of thorns are no deterrent
as eagerly they seek the fruit,

Its now with bucket Grannies come,
charged with equal season life
to fill their Pails,

while prying eyes await ,
to take what’s left behind,

but a grandchild wont miss any strays,
as nectar bleed on a stick face

soap and towels at home await.