Sunday, May 18, 2014

Sunday Morning Peace

To Everything There is a New Season . . .

New -Turned Soil
The smell of new-turned garden soil
Is in the air. With patient toil
The musk of earth is freed
From Winter's cell . . .
Each shovelful is like an urn
Diffusing redolent odor;
A freshness comes with each upturn
Of living earth . . .
A scent a rose may not escel.

--Alice Prokasky

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