Garden Still Life
I have to get back to the garden
where there is still life -
where, despite being twisted
and misshapen by the weather
the rosemary thrives
where the sparse rose bush
has grown leggy and wooden
but holds shy leaves
and where the crocus
quietly voices a promise
and struggles skyward.
Poetry
Your poems of the coming changes are always so beautiful, Erin. *hug* How are you sweetie?
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