Seven Years of Visits to the Garden

image is my own

Each new year brings 
Now this garden grief
Nourished by regret

Each year, this day, here—
Standing, kneeling, sitting—I
Spend tears, words, wishes

All meaningless now,
In the barren garden grief
Flowers never bloom

Seven years gone now--
Nothing roots, though it has tried,
In the garden grief inside

Winter’s Grief

Image courtesy of Flickr

Icy cold wind walks.

Blinding sunshine ironic,

Burning horizons,

 

Promises of warmth

Unfulfilled in morning’s cry

Of grey storm cloud’s tears,

 

And then nothing left

Of fires or dreams curling,

Blanketing round us.