A dear friend recently sent me a link to a beautiful, romantic garden poem His Wife. This inspired me to put down some poetry of my own. Time in the garden lends itself well to poetic thoughts, but rarely to actual poem writing (the pen and paper get awfully dirty you know). So I scribbled this down at a stop light while driving to visit friends in their garden.
I am Spring tired.
Fresh and dirty.
Warm skinned, bone weary;
Sore muscled, sweet blossomed.
But light and glowing despite the work.
Experiencing Easter Jesus,
Life renewed, resurrected in another