Gardeners Mortality

Gardeners Mortality

How the hill tries 

to reclaim me 

when I'm not looking.

It moves the 

leaves and soil

stones and flax.

The weeds anchor down

with the worm.

I work against 

natures commanding force

it's untidiness gathers and settles creeps onto my path.

I rage against the hill

I will not  give in to the earth or

take for granted the change in the colours of the trees.

 My hands are blistered 

from the spade 

 I feel parched 

under the decay 

of the fallen tree.

I will dig my self out of here

before the rain slips  down 

the steep slide

and the quick season

swallows the sun..

Avie.