Enga mellom fjella

Old Bob plants his garden [39]

Inspired by a photo (below) for bobturn's free verse contest. This is definitely NOT free verse! I'll have to write another from a different perspective and get this rhythm and rhyme scheme out of my head.

Old Bob plants his garden

In my winter, withered, worn,
I plan for what's to come.

For I cannot stop in springtime
when life has scarce begun.

And I cannot leave when summer
corn withers without rain.

And I cannot die in autumn
before harvesting the grain.

Wobbly I lean onto the barrow
clad in my tattered shirt.

Battered I hold fast to the ground,
my hands deep in cold dirt.

This is where I planted catnip,
there my beloved cat.

This is where I want to be planted
beneath that turnip patch.

Each season is but one short battle;
there is no time for fun.

Prop me up in this garden plot.
My work here isn't done.

KE [177.39] (18.april.2020)

** Image ID #2219311 Unavailable **

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