High Contrast

The Dill wears this
Early morning frost,
Like a well-dressed diva in denial.
Her head thrown back,
Her hair draped in the dirt,
A prophecy.

Now I see,
Where I did not see before.
Behind the Dill,
A study in high contrast:
The purple cabbage
Flaunts its voluptuous
Leaves like a painted rubber sash,
Curling at the edges, for effect.
If she had a nose,
She would turn it up
At the winter,
At the Dill,
And sit there stewing,
Stubbornly defying Frost.