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A gardener reminisces.

 A gardener reminisces.

 

A long-ago morning,  bright but biting cold,

I forked a client's border.  A sheen of frost

had silenced the robins,  silvered the cobwebs and glossed

a gorgeous Norway Maple's veils of gold.

One by one she dropped her leaves and tossed

playfully some of the sparkliest at my head,

laid the rest around me as a bed

and unabashed lolled leafless,  reticence lost,

so flagrant in her nakedness,  so slim

and smooth that I,  neglectful of my duty

stood rigid,  gazing on her slender limbs.

But seldom may I savour days like these:

my boss,  a man with no regard for beauty, 

barked: "You don't get paid to gawp at trees!"

◄ Gringo on the Chickenbus.

El condor no pasa. ►

Comments

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Tim Ellis

Mon 15th Nov 2010 17:32

Thanks Elaine.

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Elaine Booth

Mon 15th Nov 2010 17:06

Enjoyed this poem, Tim. The wrap of the lines hides, like the "sheen of frost", the tight structure!

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Tim Ellis

Sun 14th Nov 2010 17:22

Thanks Cynthia. I wrote it a few weeks ago because the BBC Autumnwatch programme was asking for autumn themed poems for their website, but it doesn't look as if they're going to broadcast any of them now, so I thought I'd share it on WOL instead.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Sun 14th Nov 2010 13:05

Tim, this is really good. The rhyme scheme is so effortless it slipped by me the first time as I read just for the pleasure of your chosen words and the cadence of your lines. A sonnet no less! I, too, am an ardent admirer of naked trees. If it interests you at all, you could check out The Rustle of Autumn, probably October or November, 2009.

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Tim Ellis

Sat 13th Nov 2010 20:24

Thanks John. Hope to see you on wednesday. I've got another longish one to read so I probably won't read this one, don't want to overstay my welcome.

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John Coopey

Thu 11th Nov 2010 21:56

Nice one, Tim.
Look forward to hearing it if I gey through to H'gate next week.

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