It is winter in my garden, The naked branches of the shrubs Betray the wounds of Pruner's knife. It is winter in my heart, The ghost of half-remembered fear Chills to desolation My spirit. It is winter in my garden. The shriveled mummy of a summer's flower is gaunt; I must remember to give it Burial. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PARTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR OLD MOTHERS by CHARLES SARSFIELD ROSS THE FROGS: THE FATAL OIL-FLASK by ARISTOPHANES PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 16. AL-KAHHAR by EDWIN ARNOLD THE SUCCESSOR by WILLIAM ROSE BENET MYSTERY OF MYSTERIES by MATHILDE BLIND EAST WIND by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN |