Winter Garden

Saturday morning, silence
broken only by the wren’s
scolding trill. Cherry blossoms
bloom no more. Ice stares down
the last ray of hope.

Trees shake off day old snow
from barren limbs. Winter garden
dry, brown, dead, but not dead,
merely asleep. Hibernation mode.

The snow!
The feel!
The sound!

Seasons march their pace.
They cannot be rushed.
Wait, we must. Rejoice
In nature’s wisdom.
There is no other path.


About the Poet: Ann Christine Tabaka is a nominee for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry. She lives in Delaware, USA. She is a published poet and artist. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are Page & Spine, The Paragon Journal, The Literary Hatchet, The Stray Branch, Trigger Fish Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Bindweed Magazine, The Metaworker, Raven Cage Ezine, RavensPerch, Anapest Journal, Mused, Apricity Magazine, Longshot Island, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, Scryptic Magazine Ann Arbor Review.


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