“I love it when the weather warms up and things start sprouting in the garden.
I walk through it every day after work just to see what’s new” Alaura dus


The garden gone now
except for tumbled vines picked bare
and the pumpkins waiting
to be carved for pies
or jack-o-lanterns,

Even the weeds that reigned
in those last hurried weeks at summer’s end
have fallen into a mass of rust and frost,
all waiting to be raked by wind
or left for compost,

a head start on next year’s plot.
No need to mourn the passing
of this garden; the root cellar’s rich
with offerings, the pantry shelves
are lined with jars

of tomatoes that know no match.
The freezer full of peaches and berries,
fare for pies and cobblers when the weather
turns a cold shoulder and we hunker
by the fire

praising the bounty
of  spring’s promises come true,
each vegetable and fruit the product
of love’s labor and an undying
faith.

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