I’m never really sure

The hard frost has come or has almost come
I’m never really sure
But something has rendered the chard
The slick purpleblack chard from Planet Perfection
As soft and sweet as it could earthly be.

My gratitude wakes from its nap
And instantly starts to cry
Sobbing for mama, alarmed at its own limbs
Unfolding impossibly around itself
In the wholeness of a garden minute,
hinting at its yield.

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