June 8, 2014

 

 

And in amongst

the changing shades,

first to arrive

in the wooded glades

 

are magical snowdrops,

so delicate and pure;

like oyster satin,

they have allure.

 

And each daisy sown

by God’s own hand,

is joined by buttercups

across the land.

 

And dandelions too,

from an anonymous seed

spring forth in abundance

exclaiming ‘I’m no weed’.

 

And all the bluebells

swaying in the woods;

a mass of joy

with compact hoods

 

sit well against

the lily pond;

a gift to behold

all summer long.

 

And clover forming

A tight knit mass;

four leaves a wish,

for some lucky lass.

 

And oh, the nettles,

how they sting!

but a nearby dock leaf,

relief, will bring.

 

All this for free

in God’s own garden,

that we mow down

and ask for pardon,

 

preferring flowers

more cultivated;

each one a hybrid,

loosely related.

 

The origin always,

a species, old,

now unrecognisable

with blooms so bold.

 

Like prickly roses

in all colours and shapes,

that compete for first prize

in the bragging stakes.

 

And yet, year after year

in his reliable way,

God’s blanket of kindness

returns, come what may.

 

So that natural beauty

we can embrace,

and proving, if proof be needed

that weeds do have a place.

 

 

 

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