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In the garden, things are springing.
Not too many birds are singing.
Rain has its dampening effect,
and looking out I feel bereft,
although the soil and plants are thrilled.
The flowerbeds are overgrown,
with grasses choking out the rest.
Having had no help last fall,
I only trim and weed at best.
So far, nothing has been killed.
No broken branches (all last year’s),
no frozen roses, dying pears,
missing tulips, withered cherries.
The dried up annuals, as expected,
but bushes girding to make berries.
Cats are streaking in the yard.
Dogs are barking far too loud,
Starlings threaten all the others—
Hope they stick to gypsy moths.
It’s spring. What did I expect?
April 26, 2023
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