Out Of Season Poem by Melati Hussein

Death will come soon no doubt
The bumble bee in the December sun
Moving, tasting
The painted lady,
also beating her wings
But no good will come of it
Flowers, that shouldn't be
will soon be dead
The bee will drop
The butterfly close her wings a last time
Crystallizing dead in the frost

Did they ever alight on the same flower
Share the same nectar
Or were they like you and I
Dancing around the same tree
Eyeing the flowers
But doomed to death
That's what happens out of season
Out of time
Things we cherish die.