photo by Patricia
The Cold wet ground, sodden with melted snow.
Geese squawking, red-wingers trilling melodically,
The repose so sought, brought by digging into the earth.
The spade into soil recently unfrozen.
Bulbs already sprouted covered,
And when the snow returns will slow them down,
Until,
Until, like me, they blossom under the warm sun.
Advertisements
