Daily Garden Reflections

Something came and something went within the night's chill gloom: an old rose fell, her fragrance spent, a new rose burst in bloom.

Oh, garden of grasses deep and wild, so dear to the vagrant and the child, and the singer of an hour.

Deep planted in the heart of man, wherever you may go, display hate fertile seeds, which sprout, and daily larger grow.

When the bloom was on the clover, and the blue was in the sky, and my happy heart brimmed over in the days gone by.

It is a good idea to be alone in a garden at dawn or dark so that all its shy presences may haunt you and possess you in a reverie.

O dandelion, rich and haughty, king of village flowers! Each day is coronation time, you have no humble hours.

The gardener does not love to talk, he makes me keep the gravel walk; and when he puts his tools away, he locks the door and takes the key.

But as I said it, swift there passed me by on noiseless wing a wildered butterfly, seeking with memories grown dim o'er night.

Part of an ancient mystery, all made of me and you: how many thousand years ago I loved, and you were sweet.

The wind has magic in its touch; strange dreams the sunsets give. Life I have questioned overmuch — today, I live.

I grow my own vegetables and herbs. I like being able to tell people that the lunch I'm serving started out as a seed in my yard.

As from the house your mother sees you playing round the garden trees, so you may see another child far, far away and in another garden, play.