After Labor Day
 
I dream of next spring’s garden
 
and what seeds to plant.

 
 

My backyard garden—
 
I search for red tomatoes,
 
but find only green.

 
 

My backyard garden—
 
the melons haven’t ripened,
 
neither has the corn.

 
 
 

February dusk—
 
how long until plum blossoms
 
grace the garden path?

 
 
 

Chilly autumn days—
 
every yellow butterfly
 
has fled my garden.

 
 
 

Deepening summer—
 
not one monarch butterfly
 
visits my garden!

 
 
 

Triple-digit temps—
 
stones along the garden path
 
hold their heat all night.

 
 
 

Only in a dream
 
does rain refresh my garden—
 
summer’s drought deepens.

 
 
 

The last days of spring
 
trickle out the garden gate
 
like a desert stream.

 
 
 

April’s first mishap—
 
I stumble on a pebble
 
near the garden gate.