Winter's Blow
The wind doth blow, the rain doth sweep, relieving dry and
hot.
Campaign signs, laying down blown away, I like that quite a
lot.
The storm doth show, with a mighty blow, Nature cleans her
own front yard.
Yesterday's leaves, dead weak limbs, felled by winds so
hard.
My garden says, that's OK, though I've lost leaves and
shoots,
Onions and garlic, carrots and beets, are growing new long
roots.
Me and Belle, no season has rest, we're planning next
Springs' work,
Reading catalogues, ordering seeds, we need a new garden
fork.
While we plan, recliner laid back, Mimi thinks we're both
asleep.
But I doth plan, and Belle doth dream, of squirrels chased
up a tree.
Aromas waft, from Mimi's kitchen, a rich stew is getting
hot,
Turnips stewing, sweet taters baking, natural beef in the
pot.
A gardeners work, is mostly done, until Winter ends at last,
But Mimi has, only brief respite, twixt cleanup and next
repast.
Bare ground is bad, so I doth grow, collards and kale alike,
My garden grows, hardy winter crops, no break in the cycle
of life.
So I praise Him, who made it all, though winds cut like a
knife.
Since after all, that's His way, of renewal by bringing new
life.
-- Carl Wayne Hardeman
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