Keepsake
The creek is running swollen from the snowmelt.
The nights are getting shorter day by day.
The crocus pose like dancers in recital;
A portrait of the garden’s first bouquet.
Forsythia bloom golden by the pathway.
Azaleas wait their turn along the fence.
And all of it together tells the story
Of nature living in the present tense.
The squirrels are acting frisky in the treetops
And rustle through the canopy above,
Emerging from a season’s hibernation
As patient and enduring as your love.
Today I’ll take my axe and split some cordwood,
Replace the stacks I’ve burned the winter through,
And when I have my second cup of coffee,
I’ll dedicate my resting thoughts to you.
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