PROVIDENCE

When spring in leaf makes good its pledge

that’s when my rusty spade will bite.

Across the lawn I’ll mark an edge,

my unmade bed to plant with light.

And where my trusty spade does bite

the grass is gone, left naked earth,

an unmade bed to plant with light.

Within its bounds no knotted turf:

the grass is gone, left naked earth.

Since winter drear at last will break,

within its bounds the knotted turf

my blade will cut and lift and shake.

When winter drear at last does break,

across the lawn I mark my edge

where blade shall cut and lift and shake,

for spring in leaf makes good that pledge.

xi.2014 / x.2015