The little mixed garden of her delight.

Early rising
Smell of melt in the dirt
Sheep bleating their
Approval in the side yard.
A walk in the field
To scuff and
Kick the earth
Tells him things
Are ready for disking.

Jean is in the kitchen
Boiling water for tea
And arranging muffins
That took everything she
Had yesterday in the
Making.
He would soon come
Up to the porch
Talking spring plans
And calling their son
Peter to help with
Tree dead fall cluttering
The incoming lane.
Would she take a stab
At her mixed and
Colourful Garden
Again this year?
Damn the Alzeimers anyways
He thought with regret.