Gardening

(For RSJ) You bring simple flowers to plant under the old Austrian pine. You come with love to where hostile shadows crowd and lately no green thing survives. You cut away the low, dead boughs, stir up the unlit earth, raking in loam and fresh topsoil. Cherished, nursed, believed in, the earth rings. Now the flowers placed in the redeemed ground know their worth, begin to grow ... Caring, you wait.

It happens suddenly.

The words you bring to my unspoken days are blossoming on my tongue now out of turn like an unscheduled spring.

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