About a month after all the lilacs bloom
They are rotten and brown.
You can no longer differentiate
Pink, White, Purple.

Right before a SummerStorm 
The humidity level and temperature are just so
For the lilacs' scent to soak the air 
For a moment as you pass the rotting bush.

It's remembering the past, 
And solicits the same flickering feelings
As finding an old birthday card
From an Aunt who died last April.