Observations in the Woodland Garden

My hands deep in the earth-
Stained and worn
Where air is heavy and intense from spores released with rain;
I watch fine droplets streaming down new leaves
Arched over with weight
As fronds of ferns
With Prehistoric curl
Hang low
In communion with Dog-toothed violet;
Where faded primroses nod
To bluebells near purple in their
Intoxicating intensity;
The old fork is propped
Ready to lift the clods of soil
In time- worn fashion
In this ancient part of the garden.

4 thoughts on “Observations in the Woodland Garden

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