Gardeners' Conceit

Rain, rain go away
the restless gardener
wants to play. No
longer the muted palette
of winter months,
the garden beckons
in hues of fuchsia
and gold, violet and mint,
umber and emerald,
scarlet and cream.

Complacent itself
under the gentle pulse
of accelerated advance
thanks to the steady rain,
the garden, blase and
independent of our
ministrations, revels
in its allegiance with
the elements, placidly
denying the conceit
of devoted gardeners.