It is still too wet.
While the urge is strong
and the tools sharpened,
the sun needs to be stronger.
I fight the rule:
“plant when the roots
don’t require boots.”
Winter has been
a stern “schoolmarm”
this year of our Lord
and I’ve grown tired
of her stinging smacks
and Puritan grey skies.
“A week, maybe two at most,”
I whisper to the spaniel
as we look out the window
at the wet brown earth.
Bio
R. Gerry Fabian is a published writer and poet from Doylestown, PA.
He has published seven books of poetry: Parallels,
Coming Out Of The Atlantic, Electronic Forecasts,
Wildflower Women, Pilfered Circadian Rhythm, Hidden Danger,
including his poetry baseball book, Ball On The Mound.

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