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April
by Candace Armstrong

My garden waits in soggy splendor,
full of secret promise beneath the soil.
It is nothing if not patient,
 waiting all these fallow months
  for the earth's return to warmth,
   to be tickled again by my rake and hoe
    massaging away the crusty surface
     and caressing its timid offerings
      as they peek their tiny green heads
       into the wonder beyond the soil line
        the day after a storm.

 

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