Last night was the season’s first sharp frost.
The year is treading into middle age.
My garden yields, summer’s vigor lost.

The sun rescinds itself, autumn’s tropic crossed.
The days I live are written on turning page.
Last night was the season’s first sharp frost.

For all my years, there’s now a coming cost.
I’ve raced, and swum, and danced across the stage.
The garden yields, summer’s vigor lost.

Leaves are golden, milkweed’s popped and flossed.
I’ve gathered my last blooms, lavender and sage.
Last night was the season’s first sharp frost.

Now the wind rises, falling leaves all tossed.
With winter, my house will become my cage.
The garden yields, summer’s vigor lost.

In snowy death, my plot will be blanketed and coiffed.
And every freezing month below, I’ll pass in rage.
Last night was the season’s first sharp frost.
The garden yields, summer’s vigor lost.

Yvette Viets Flaten (Eau Claire) has recently had poetry published by Red Cedar Review and Silver Birch Press. In May 2020 she was interviewed on The Writer’s Almanac by Garrison Keillor as part of his Pandemic Poetry Contest. Her poem, “Riding It Out,” was one of ten winners. Her poem, “He runs his fingers” won the Wisconsin Writers’ Association’s 2020 Jade Ring Contest.