When in the garden fallow
Twig and leaf are dead

It’s time to cut and trim, dig and prod
Preparing for the lovely breath of Spring

In the winter of my memories
Where feelings lay unsaid
And frosty numbness veils

Life within, still seeking
Is poked and tethered dead
With sharp and pointed emotions

Let’s trim away, instead
The rot, the used and spent
For our spirit’s Spring 
Once again to joyously blossom