by Edwin Honig

On this bleary white afternoon,
are there fires lit up in heaven
against such faking of quickness and light,
such windy discoursing?
While November numbly collapses,
this beech tree,
heavy as death on the lawn,
braces for throat-cutting ice,
bandaging snow.


As featured on
The Daily Gardener podcast:

Words inspired by the garden are the sweetest, most beautiful words of all.
Edwin Honig
Edwin Honig