My last garden foray
I ripped up a wagon of weeds.
Groaning and satisfied
I dumped the load upon the refuse heap.
This morning
I headed for a thistle patch
then stopped.
En route to screaming weeds
I heard a dahlia whisper.
I thumbed my nose at duty
and pruned it
then a geranium
and hosta.
My foray finished,
I have just one bucket of
spent blooms
and spotted leaves.
This pre-fall day,
winter looming,
beauty trumped duty
and my burdens are light.
