she is in the garden now
she has not yet cut
dead flowers from her garden
though winter solstice is two
days past and stormy
clouds promise soon coming snow
with its blanket of virgin
white to purify
autumn’s death and the decay
slumbering amongst
the roots and debris
of life lived long in summer
short days of winter
begin to lengthen
into promises of spring
too many seasons passing
into memories
too many seasons passing
as a dream within a dream*
the winter solstice
is two days past with dark clouds
on the horizon
saying time is short~
she is in the garden now
tombstones mark the place.
*Edgar Allen Poe, 1850
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