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The Garden

The summer has slipped by. Last night the moon

Was full once more, after its wax and wane.

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The brightest and the chilliest hours will soon

Blur in our memories to sun and rain.

Roses and friendships flourished - petals of both

In color and in sweetness of perfume

Astonished us with pleasure in their growth:

Though flowers have died, affection keeps its bloom.

Now, at the end of often-glorious days,

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Bracing for winter harshness to come,

I glance about the garden and give praise

For all that lives. Look. Our geranium

That lost her early, lavish flowering

Has found, these last two weeks, a second spring.