A Gardener Watches Blown Snow

Diamonds driven by water-winds
hiss against my windows
frozen fire crackling
burning coldcrisped leaves
where vines still tether
pods of purpleblack beans.

Ferns bowing to the rush
of switchback winds
tempt my gardener’s hands
into the frigid world
calling it my promise
to serve the gardens.

Cowardly I huddle instead
sunk into the brown softness
of this warm armchair
embrace the persistence
of Life in all its generosity
only with my eyes and heart.

About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
This entry was posted in Free verse, Gardening, Gardening, Usually Organic, Poetry, Uncategorized, Winter. Bookmark the permalink.

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