Twas the month before spring and all through the place
Many people were stirring as if in a race.
Hanging baskets were hung on the driplines with care
In hopes spring would find them blooming up there.
Young plants were nestled, all snug in their trays
With visions of flowers to fill greenhouse bays.
Muriel in her Birkenstocks, and Barb in her cap
Knew that winter was over and so was their nap.
When out by the greenhouse there arose such a clatter,
Jeremiah sprung up to see what was the matter.
I flew to the door like a young frisky pup
To look out of the door to see what was up.
The sunlight reflected on the new-fallen snow
With a wintry look in the sun’s bright glow.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
A delivery truck pulling up in low gear.
With a driver who looked quite grubby and smug
I knew it must be a delivery of plugs.
So slowly he opened the back of his truck,
He pawed through the boxes and found ours, by luck.
He dragged out the box with the UP facing down,
Then rolled it inside like an insolent clown.
We signed his receipt and he went on his way
As he scowled and he cursed the wintry day.
As snow that swirls in a cold blizzard wind,
He turned the truck ‘round, fast as wheels can spin.
Up past the mailbox the old truck flew
With a load of squashed boxes and the young driver too.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Gene R. Stark
A teacher, farmer, trapper, and greenhouse grower. He writes about the outdoors and the people and culture of rural America..