Arts + Scene » Poetry

Seasons

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When the growing season ends,
some gardeners (and some lovers)
will pull a withered embrace
of sweet peas
from the supporting trellis,
sweep puckered
tomato kisses off
a stained patio floor,
and say "so long" to root-bound,
disappointing efforts.
    They'll feel free at last.
    No longer engaged
    in watering, feeding, weeding.
        Free . . .
        until amnesia
        floats in
        on a soft spring breeze.

Jenny Lovewell

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