I pour it all into the ground these days,
Ideas, images, and words together;
The sonnets, free verse, haiku–all displays
Of feeling go elsewhere in warmer weather.
First feed the soil–just as I first awake
My senses to the world, to love, to life
In colder seasons feed my mind and make
What best I can to give him as his wife.
Then seed the plots and transplant what has grown
As I in Winter try my best to shape
Lines and rhythmic feet here as my own
To still the rush of Time as Life escapes.
For now, though, Readers Dear, I beg your pardon,
But my first obligation’s to the garden.