Michael Newman
Winter Garden
On a finger-cramping February morning,
I thrill to see japonica in bloom,
Red flowers against a frost-flaking wall,
A feeling that spring's entreaty
Cannot be so far away.
Gusts and flurries seem like valediction;
The fluff on hedges cannot sustain belief
In the uninvited Ice Maiden.
An easterly wind insinuates -
Insinuates, yes, but proves nothing. I look around.
A fence, now splintered, now whole,
Ivy creeping out, creasote faded,
Panels loose as strife, or held by rusted nails.
And yet japonica lifts me to laughter,
Sends the timpani of my ears
Into upbeat mode.
After the drudge of enforced labour,
I quicken to joy,
Sense beauty in our loving,
And God in beauty.
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