Sonnet for the Late Bloomers

The lilies’ trumpets, long since fallen silent,
Their substance blended with the soil below,
Both daffodils and crocus are dim pictures,
As are all the early blooms we sowed.
Their complex habits, needy roots and foliage
Demanded our attention for a while
And we admired their colors and their contrasts
With memories of snow in drifts and piles.
But now come, in late summer’s final glory,
The smaller and less flashy flowering things–
Their colors mostly whites, their blossoms tiny,
Their sweetest honey feeds the lightest wings.
Therefore, though we recall with joy the past,
The simplest, dearest blooms come at the last.