Winter Garden

My clothes can't keep out this January and, as
rain fills the air and river, as
I lock up my bike,
all around are bulbs,
fresh and soft and flowering,
among the hardy remains of last years garden.

You fools, I think - what are you doing here?
such energy on this cold dull day!
Better to wait for  warmer times.

But in this wet unfrozen winter,
where Arum lilies stretch
last years curious leaves,
to an overhanging branch
where catkins foam,
these bulbs have no choice.

They need to sprint, before
any starting gun is fired, before
lumbering trees and lush herbaceous
take the light, or be left, emaciated,
without the strength to emulate this
thrust of joy they bring, each year,
to the winter garden