In gale-force winds tall branches sway
I hold onto my hat today
Conscious it might blow away;
Beware the chill!
Skeletal leaves whirl in the air
How to catch them? Should I care?
My hanging baskets, dusty, bare
Are never still.
Though the urge to dig and plant is nigh
Unopened seed packs lie nearby
Awaiting a more clement sky;
Am I too keen?
My determined pansies do their best
But harsh winds put them to the test
And their fragile petals manifest
A troubled mien.
Tills at the Boitsfort nursery ring!
Neighbours plan to cart home Spring;
Those early bulbs, force-fed, will bring
An Easter touch;
But March this year is fiercely cold
And Mother Nature tends to scold
Precocious souls who make so bold;
No need to rush!
(c) Poet in the woods 2021
Pepinière de Boitsfort
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