The Winter Garden 

In Winter the garden lies sleeping
The house needs tending instead;
With mopping and dusting and sweeping
And changing of sheets on the bed.

I'd rather be weeding the flowers
And watering seeds that will grow
Than scrubbing recalcitrant showers
And making the furniture glow.

But a house must be cared for and tended,
Though I'd rather be outdoors to play,
Or it will not feel loved and befriended,
And sink into rust and decay.

I'll put in my time indoor gardening,
While dreaming of days in the sun
When I will be out in the yardening
To nurture what Nature's begun.

Meanwhile if I look at my cleaning
As though it were weeding and such
Perhaps that will give it more meaning
And I won't dislike it so much!

Deep Winter

Now Winter begins in earnest;
Snow hushes the landscape,
Softening harsh reality.
Quieting the rustle and scrape of dry leaves.

What is the sound of a snowflake falling?
Of water becoming ice?
Of moonlight striking a snow-bank?
The sound of Winter is silence.

January Dreams

Outside, bitter chill; inside flower catalogues.
Alluring images and extravagant prose 
Combine to bring me visions: a garden of delight.
Will these promises  become reality in June?
What do I care! replacing winter vistas,
They warm my January heart.