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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.