Remember in May:
Those pin-neat rows
go rogue in summer heat.
Fine beauty in June.
Come July, gay abundance.
Next up, chaos.
By September, I look no more.
Aficionado of the planning,
I am caught by the glory of the seeds
in January catalogues,
the tilling and toil never mentioned.
Amanda Le Rougetel wrote this poem.
I can picture flowers and fruits growing.
Love it
Vivid and spare. Thank you.
This is very good!!! Succinct use of 50 words!
You have the heart of a gardener. It takes one to know one. <3
Lovely poem, Amanda. And this, you see, is why I never garden.