Winter Garden

Winter gardens, rows
leaning low to mud, coldly
promising nothing.

The pale sun, lingers...
Are you still here? I saw you
in spring, green breezes

singing in the trees,
lusty crickets shouting grace!
Why did you leave me,

in this place defiled?
Will you turn your holy face
from your unholy child?

poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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