my bliss
begins with rusted rake, scarred shovel
continues with ancient clippers that snap winter’s residue
pulses with knees planted to ground
thrives with bulbs separated, clippings rooted
grows with tipsy walls reset with careful hands
pushes skyward with dew dusted blades
my blissconquers the enemy without with patience
soothes with dappled sunlight
transforms death with restoration
mornings blend into afternoons
days meld into weeks
Copyright 2020 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
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