MARIGOLDS

Yellow and burnt orange

marigolds,

row on row,

spilled over the garden fence,

at my little house

full of children

in Kelowna,

long ago.

Backpacks,

and shoes

just inside the door,

made  a hill

so steep.

I never thought

one day I'd miss

that messy heap.

We thought

those days

would for forever last,

but life has a way

of going by

too fast.

Bikes and hikes

and flying kites,

our snug little home

full of music and laughter,

together we made

memories

that would last

forever after.

The kitchen was the colour 

of marigolds.

I remember

breakfasts and suppers,

and morning songs,

my heart full of joy,

and marigolds cascading

over the garden fence

each September.

For the prompt at dVerse: to write about an aspect of fall.