In Winter’s Garden In winter’s garden flowers cannot grow Gone are irises, roses, and pansies low, In the frozen earth with its white complexion, Amid the dark streams of circumspection, They wither under the icy winds that blow. At night around the hearth, embers are aglow, And summery dreams are created calm and slow, The season’s memoirs form a serene connection: But flowers cannot grow As a frosty chill covers the land of snow Atop the white knoll near our small chateau, Winds pierce our minds with weak objection, Creating poems of silver with winter’s introspection, And, a special vision appears that we all know, But, flowers cannot grow.
The Woods In the hushed forest where deer often flock, I listen to downy birds warbling like in a dream. Far away from city people that sit and gawk, Images from my early childish hours do teem, Into my searching mind like a flowing stream: Over the yellowed and arid meadow so dry The moisture-laden clouds outwardly gleam, And my thoughts idly flutter into the bright sky As I sit near a pond’s soft and verdant loam. Like a butterfly finding a sugary thought, Serene feelings into my lonely soul do roam, And the day is filled with peaceful dreams I sought. And as I silently ponder on the wood’s ancient lore, I rest my weary body on the soft forest floor.
Dr. Piatt, is a retired professor and octogenarian, Best of Web nominee and three time Pushcart nominee. He has had four poetry books; “Solace Between the Lines,” “Light,” “Ancient Rhythms,” and “The Silent Pond,” 1495 poems, five novels, and 35 short stories published worldwide. He earned his BS and MA from California State Polytechnic University, SLO, and his doctorate from BYU.