Sunday, 5 August 2012

Seeds

The Seed-Shop
Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry -
Meadows and gardens running through my hand.


In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
That will drink deeply of a century's streams;
These lilies shall make summer on my dust.



Here in their safe and simple house of death,
Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap;
Here I can blow a garden with my breath,
And in my hand a forest lies asleep. 
Muriel Stuart






Little Pepper Pots!!

Tap these little pods gently and out pop......

Hundreds and Thousands!

Isn't nature wonderful?   (I may have said that before!)


3 comments:

  1. Yes, it is! All my poppies came up that pale purple colour this year. I wonder where all the others went?

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  2. wonderful photos, and a fab poem, enjoyed that!

    Leanne x
    talesofsimpledays.blogspot.com

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  3. Lovely poem. I used to also dry my seed heads and use the seeds on top of bread or in scones.

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