Beware the gardener’s itch
to dig in firma terra
lest you be pruned and potted
along with the schefflera.
The gardener cannot help it,
her nails are far too clean,
so kitchen turns to hothouse,
mid-winter turns to green.
With more thanks to photographer S.W. Berg
and to indoor/outdoor gardener D.J. Berg
for this testimonial to gardeners’ winter fever.
The greening of the lavender
along the garden border
in April welcomed cordially,
in January, out of order.
We’re doused with April showers,
winter coats hang limp in closets;
there’s dank insinuation
that such misplacement posits.
Winter April such as this
seems not at all auspicious;
gardeners grow no seedlings
but only more suspicious.
Winter can be bitter,
and gardeners hate the wait,
but they worry when the earth
seems to de-regulate.
Meanwhile, though, they slog around
amid the muddied swells,
rejoicing through a happy nose:
how good the wet earth smells!
How thoughtful Nature
to warm our eyes
before the year’s
glacéed demise.
What awesome palette,
it must be told,
that blends tomato
with marigold.
As home décor,
though bright and merry,
by that same Nature,
alas,
temporary.
I cannot think a thought
pen a treatise or a ballad
explaining mystic morph
from yellow frill to salad.
Death sets a table
for Loneliness,
snuffs the light of expecting,
feasts on emptiness.
And yet
the planting
defiant
makes the earth take seed.
We must think of both.
9/11
With more thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.
Amid the dense green
of new autumn
Old Sol shines
in summer’s late petal
Midas-touching the leaves
round about
while seed feathers
tickle cloud tummies.
Many more thanks to photographer S. W. Berg.
Gather ye pollen
while ye may
in warm and bright
September day.
Tender zest,
to flower,
to seed —
thus does garden
(and life)
proceed.
With apologies to Robert Herrick.
