Classic Poem

I always think
Of garden phlox
As ladies in
Their Summer frocks.

Sheer lawn
And dimity,
As fine as one
Could wish to see.

Colors gay
And patterns laid
With careful plan
And lovely shade.

They spread their skirts
And dance all day
With any wind
That comes their way.

And when they're hidden
By the night,
They scatter perfume
To invite.

The wandering moth
That brings them word
Of things that they
Have never heard.