Yard Sale of Thoughts

February hits, a punch to the gut. 

The walls grow ever higher;
there are branches yet to cut.

Snowdrops blend in with frost.

Oh, yes, the whites conspire, 
but in truth, there is no trust. 

The garden plotted with the finest lines,
as the ladder, ever steeper,
shows no view beyond the rut.

So, the gardener must admire
what's before her, 
master's new design:

proposed, planned, imposed,
a steep gulch,

as all that lies ahead remains
dormant,
dumbfounded in the mud.

©2025 | K.F. Hartless

---