Nothing Ever Changes

Nothing ever changes.
In September you plant peas,
and we harvest them before the frost.
In December freezing rain
draped the garden
in an iridiscent gown
of beauty and death.

Winter was long,
and when spring finally
shook the flowers from their sleep,
you stayed in bed,
your thoughts, one by one,
turning toward the earth.

Summer was cold and wet;
the fruit did not ripen.
This September I will plant the peas.
Nothing ever changes.