There's a poem on this week's New Yorker and I thought it has a resonance to many gardeners as we soldier on in the care of our plants and battle through the wintry cold. I hope you'll ponder over this work by American poet Linda Pastan.
THE GARDENER
He's out rescuing his fallen hollies
after the renegade snowstorm,
sawing their wounded limbs off
quite mercilessly (I think of the scene
in "Kings Row," the young soldier waking
to find his legs gone).
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