How to keep pace with nature's panic; jasmine
Spent before Christmas, time out of joint.
Creeps of all sorts scuttle, still alive, no sense of occasion;
If daffodils show in January, what's the point?

Out and over, over and out; an awkward party
Beset by gatecrashers, and those staying far too late.
The winter honeysuckle fades so quickly,
Its heady scent mourned by the garden gate.

The clock runs faster; long weeks of drought,
Then drenching days, without a trace of snow
Or cleansing frost. The peach tree's leaves cling fast.
When spring arrives, how on earth will we know?

THE LAST ROSE OF AUTUMN

When the chill came, we were grateful, felt remembered;
Each year the leaves clung longer, a little too long.
Hostas yellowed, but did not wither.
Fresh buds competed, defying the gloom,
To win the pennant for the last rose of autumn.

The assault happened in a sheet of rain, a squall of storm,
On frantic nights brown, red, gold garments
Were ripped and hurled by wind and wet.
Yet now, the trees stripped, the gaps in the woods,
I miss the season barely gone.

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