Winter Flowers
My bare tree boughs
Are hoared with shiny ice
The redbirds fly up to the cedar deck
From the cold creek
Then disappear.
My house is dead
Like all my frozen fields
I live too silent
And too much alone
Thousands of books
Litter my study shelves
But what they tell me
I am deaf to hear
I make do work and stack
Boxes of bulbs I augured
Into my stony soil
In dark December
Far too late in the year
But look
They are raising their heads
Frozen but raising their heads
The one green thing
Among the empty white
Are hoared with shiny ice
The redbirds fly up to the cedar deck
From the cold creek
Then disappear.
My house is dead
Like all my frozen fields
I live too silent
And too much alone
Thousands of books
Litter my study shelves
But what they tell me
I am deaf to hear
I make do work and stack
Boxes of bulbs I augured
Into my stony soil
In dark December
Far too late in the year
But look
They are raising their heads
Frozen but raising their heads
The one green thing
Among the empty white
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