The Old Potting Shed

March 27, 2019 Cheryl crotty

Down at the end, beside the cold frame and hedgerow There lies a fair haven of gardening grace Much littered with tools, both tactile and time-worn Old, paper-wrapped tubers and cobwebs like lace. Spring brings a flurry of sewing and potting All carried out gladly, while the radio plays Dreams of sweet flowers and fruit, soon to follow Are dreamed as the sun sets on lengthening days. Ah, wonderful smells of sage and spring onions Are mingled with basil and thyme's lemon zest Hot cups of coffee leave rings, on the workbench While shabby old armchair provides welcome rest. Now greenhouse gives birth, to first of the season But here's where each new life is tended with care Colors bring promise that sunshine approaching Will soon put an end to the chill in the air. This is my place, full of magic and secrets Where spells of renewal and nurture are cast Unsung in Winter, protecting in silence Just waiting for Springtime to come round at last. Mary Ann Love