They brought me a quilled, yellow dahlia,
Opulent, flaunting.
Round gold
Flung out of a pale green stalk.
Round, ripe gold
Of maturity,
Meticulously frilled and flaming,
A fire-ball of proclamation:
This isn't a dahlia and it isn't yellow, but it sure speaks to me of autumn.
Beautiful- you could always take artistic license and change those two minor details (o: The poem does fit perfectly with the poem though. Very pretty!