I crouch on hard cold ground
the autumn soil
resists my efforts to free it
My back sore, my limbs beg
for warmth and release.
Fingers gradually stiffen
numb as they clasp the lifeless bulbs
The warmth of my fireplace
entices me
yet I go on planting.
In my mind’s eye
It is springtime.
The flowers are blooming.
Sometimes in our lives
it all seems, so futile
People, like bulbs, appear unresponsive
Our minds numbed
with the cold indifference of others.
Hearts split to the core
by life’s tragedies
We beg for release and relief
Yet we go on living.
We’ll see the flowers again
Spring does follow winter
It always has.