James
Pickles The Arms of Spring
Woman
in the Garden
O
woman in the garden, stooping
among flowers, your back bent down,
fingers twisting in the smell of the soil,
hair waterfalling through your frown.
In
the new green flood your eyes are open.
Your flame burns more than you can guess.
Your thoughts in blossom all around you;
and in your earth, your loveliness.
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