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Cold Spell — Archie Hamerton

Medium: Poetry

My mother would disappear

Down to her greenhouse

Like an alchemist to his study

A welly booted Prospero

At the bottom of the garden

It’s a little dominion

She said,

As she looked at the

Expectant shoots

Soil matissed in dashes

On her smock

A cold snap surprised

Us all in May

Claimed the entire

Top shelf of shoots

I asked my mother

If she would try again

Replant and reseed

No, she said, if Nature

Wanted them to grow

Nature would have let them,

And she locked up the

Greenhouse door



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