It Isn’t Winter

It isn’t winter that brings out
the brazing energy in me,
but the summer sun, the summer rain
the fresh earth that I wallow in
with fingers, with spade, with pickaxe
and rake scalloping the earth
in lines like a huge shell
in the womb of which is buried
the treasured seeds,
that will soon be sprouting
some into vegetables,
some into pretty flowers
giving back life and tranquillity.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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