The Garden In Winter. Poem by Patrick J. McCormack
The Garden In Winter.
Stripped bare of past Autumnal glory
the fruit trees stand
with the cold of Winters season visited upon them
Migrant birds from far away
no longer gather to eat their fill
and sing among fully plumed branches
Just a single ragged robin dishevelled from rain and wind
now reigns alone in this his silent domain
as the garden lies wrapped in Winters sleep.
A reflection on viewing my garden through thr kitchen window last year.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/29/2024 11:03:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Nicely done, full of stark imagery. My favorite line: and sing among fully plumed branches. I also like that disheveled robin.