Like Martha.

Last years rosemary is over.
All that is left are
broken stalks
and brown leaves that clung on
through the winter.
I pull the former plant
up by its roots.
It will be replaced with a younger
fresh plant,
one that has not seen so many winters

Digging in the dirt
I find corn cobs from last summer
that refused to rot.
They are remainders
of great evenings,
like guests who refuse to leave
when the party is over.

Broken egg shells
I threw into the compost mix
are still here.
They were supposed to decompose,
Martha promised.

The dogs beef bones
and favorite chew toys are here too.
I am happy to find them buried
in the raised bed I created for my kitchen herbs
instead of under my pillow in the house.
The crocuses are blooming now
It wont be long before the daffodils
And tulips start to come out.

Like Martha,
I have plenty to throw away
And I dont have the patience
to wait for nature to break it all down.