The Killing Frost

We wait
In this between time,
When tender leaves are only wilted;
The ground cold
but not frozen.

When frost toys with life
to take just
This leaf, that flower;
A late bee stunned with cold,
nectar gone.

These are good days,
Days to rejoice and be glad;
Glad of the slow bee
And the brilliant petal,
For the killing frost
will come.

- Patricia Thrushart


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