Day 15, NaPoWriMo

“I was a weedy garden, overgrown”

There comes a time in any garden’s scope

when magic may appear; so unexplained

and such a cultivator for my slope;

I called him “Mr. Snow”, though not his name.

Reminded me of tune from Carousel.

I kept my notebook with his accolades.

While humming them, the rhythm taught me well

and so my sonnets grew though in the shade.

I kept this teacher’s approbation near;

his love for my fine Haiku tucked away

into a secret garden where no fear

could ever enter or find disarray.

Sometimes my weeds grow faster than my blooms

But from his patience came my metered tune.

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