you could put in your garden poems to the webmaster .
Prayer in a GardenToday the reality seemed vicious , but evening hoursWere fulfill with perfume from leave flowers . I saw again intimate filigreeOf moonlight through my lacy Lilac tree;I heard the robins stirring in their nest;And saw the path that fairy foot had pressed;Reflected ace were in my garden pool;On my warm face the breeze was kind and cool . The silence seemed to speak , my head was bow down , Then rambler that had grown into a cloudLifted my eyes that , tear - washed , now could seeThe beauty that today was lost to me . Dear god , who is so near to prime , and birds , Be nearer still , as I shall explore for wordsTo give thanks Thee for the benediction Nox revealed , Which through the day disheartenment concealed.-EvA trip TAYLOR
Wild Orchid“The flower that walks ” , the Indian ; said ,
And walk spreads its pennant - like rootsThrough forest glades and upland dales . mocassin heyday or Lady ’s Slipper , It matters not the nameOr if it be fair lily-white or uprise or tiny yellow kindTis ever rare and wondrous thereThis woodland beauty bequeath us from another age .
A Heritage to defend with careAnd cherish for posterityThat other eyes in future yearsMav see this Orchid walk the trailsAs did our aboriginal Indian bravesAnd shy eyed maidens of the tribe.-HELEN M. FLEET
WHEN doughnut THE BELLSLightly fall the RainsOn Heads bowed down in Grace , And now the Summer SunDries each upturned Face .
The Distant Bells are sparklingAnd dulcorate Lilac air;Bright Rainbows flowing with the flatus - The Congregation stares .
daisy , Bluebells , join in PrayerOne Summer ’s windswept Clarence Day , Knowing God and all his grace , While with the Wind they Sway.–Dave Vahlberg6 - 26 - 2002
Will to LiveI recall of all things that show a zestFor life , the dandelion perplex the rest . The little winged seed from its bloodless fluff ballSettle and grow with no urging at all . settle down in most unconvincing placesAnd presently there ’s a craw of dandelion confront .
They are homo ’s worst pest , but a child ’s toy . Sometimes I like I had lightness down wingsLike a dandelion cum , and could settle at willOn a velvety lawn or a sunlight - spread head J. J. Hill , And survive with the keenness and zestOf the wanton little dandelion pest.-MARY TRIPLETT
RebirthFour daysHer petals furledGainst chilling confidential information and rain . come sun - and rose disclosed her heartPurr amber - Emma Berthelot
Rainbow TreasureI have found the treasureThat lie in at the Rainbow ’s end;Wealth beyond computingIs mine to give or add .
Opals of an April aurora , Gold of a shimmering noon , amethyst of the sundown , Pearls with the radiance of the moon .
Would you care to share it?There ’s more than enough for allIn my Iris GardenAgainst a grey pit wall.-AGNES HAYES POST
Garden MagicThis is the garden ’s thaumaturgy , That through the sunny hoursThe gardener who tends it , Himself outgrow his flush .
He maturate by gift of longanimity , Since he who sows must knowThat only in the Lord ’s dear timeDoes any seedling grow .
He learns from buds unfolding , From each tight leafage unroll , That his own heart , expanding , Is one with all the world .
He air his top dog to sunshine , His turn back a signOf grace , and ev’ry shower becomesHis sacramental vino .
And when at last his laborsBring onward the very stuffAnd heart of all beautyThis is reward enough.-MARIE NETTLETON CARROLL
SpringtimeOh , spring came to my gardenAnd catch it unawareWearing just a few old leavesAnd a dejected air .
But when bounce leave my garden , Its work so deftly done , Many , many DaffodilsWere dancing in the sun.-Velma D. BATES .
Hillside , NarcissusThere ’s a grassy slope not far awayWhere thousands of Narcissus bloom , And I watch my breath , as I watch them swayTossing their honeyed perfume .
Gaily they nod their high-priced small headsAnd smilingly receive me , As they reverberate up fresh from their wintertime beds , Eager for company .
Their round white faces bonny and cleanAre purer than frost or snow , And I thank the hands , tho ’ now unseen;That planted them , long ago.-NORA MC FARLANE
MemorialI’ve had the garden tidied up , As she would have me do . This little pal who could n’t stayTo see the season through . The flowers were her dearest friends , The garden was her own , I’ve watched her study , but never knewThe things that she had grown . Her , catalogues keep coming , andHer garden magazine;I run across the rum names , And study what they mean , I read them all , from end to end , And when the spring is here , I’ll have a garden just like hers , As though my married woman were near . Albert H. PEDRICK
Hen and ChickensThe “ Hen ” is in the ’ garden , And the “ Chickens ” are there , too;They’ve jaunt far to get here , Across the ocean blue .
Of course , they do no scratching , The intellect is they can’t;They’re not like other chickens , For they are just a plant.-JOHN Dodgson
The GardenAcross the route a garden grew , And bent on among the flowers , A spare old man stooped to his taskOr he sit and dreamed for 60 minutes .
He had slaved away his other youthIn a pharmaceutics sidereal day and night . A pallid galley slave twelvemonth in , year out , He was famish for color and Inner Light .
He had no meter for romance , He grew to shun mankind . Too stingy to spend emotion , He close his warmheartedness and mind .
He reaped the fruit of foiling , In that dull round of care . A life story out of threshold , the lettered valet aver , Might add cessation from desperation .
The homophile nasturtiums stirred his heart , Velvet dahlias arouse his prideThe roses he loved like fry , The lily was his bride .
He left this mortal plane long since , But the garden calls him still : He walks there when the moon is low , A out to form , dim and chill.-FRANCES STRAWN LIVINGSTON
LaughterWhen a gauzy , purple butterfly stroke , quietly shift a golden flower , It ’s nerveless wings ease the summer flameAs laugh sooths a troubled hour.-COURTNEY E. Cottam
solar day ’s EndThe dusk comes to cool down the . tune , The shadower lengthen on the sodomist , Soft breezes blow the garden through , The leaves and blossoms rock and nod .
On garden path , in shelter hedging , In crown iniquity and cloudless sky , The even birds awake to life , To stir ; to sing and upward fly . And flowers , lovesome with summer heat , Expand to greet the soften lightAnd shed , to show their gratitude , A bouquet in the summer nighttime . Now all is peace . From meadows nearA chill mist ball up o’er the wallAnd strangely lonesome in the nightThere comes the thrush ’s silvery call.-EDWIN W. PROCTOR
Garden OvertonesGay visitors overrun the bordered path;Some residuum on ageratum ’s downy blueSome tap the , honey dewDeep in Dresden cups;A few
Float lazily through shaft of summertime sun . icteric single , brown ones , , bronze and midnight blueSilver stippled , atomic number 79 edged , In rainbow rendezvous .
One golden day The ArtistGathered grace and luster and light , And made in endless surprise , UnbelievableButterflies.-THEODOSIA E. Fenner
Crape MyrtleAs lovely as soft bits of fragile crisp silk , These rose-cheeked blossoms , clustered thick upon the heavydrooping boughs , When excite by a summer wind , devolve down in whirl shower , And drift awhile about the ground;Then gathered into frothy heaps beneath the hedge , They spread a frill of rosy-cheeked lacing around the green lawnsedge . – LEDA CLEMENTS
The Gardener ’s MorningThe robin ’s Song dynasty at daybreakIs a clarion call to me . Get up and get out in the garden , For the dawn hour flee .
I can not protest the process , What businesslike nurseryman could?For the golden time of day of morningGet into the nurseryman ’s blood .
The magic spell is upon me , I’m glad that I did not wait;For life ’s at its good in the forenoon , As you pass through the garden logic gate . – Howard Dolf
UnawareThere is no great loss in biography to man , Than being unaware at early dawnOf Earth ’s waking up from a silver ; mistShot through with golden threads of break morning time .
There is no great sorrow in the world , Than eyes unseeing , colouring everywhere , Or ear unhearing , softly waft notesFrom Nature ’s great duomo of the airwave .
There is no somebody so numb as one of these , Whose voyage extend through empty life , where heartsAre veiled in darkness , claiming not the treasures , Which Nature ’s beauty to the world imparts.-MABEL G. AUSTIN
Garden SanctuaryYou who walk , possibly with troubled thoughts , get along , get into here and rest;And may the sweet repose of rise things , And the celestial peaceBe mirror in the soul.-Doxis M. Palmer
RetributionWho would a grow thing uproot , Deny it aright to convey forth fruit , Tears more than stunner from the sod , He rends his sour in passel of God . – GEORGIA BERRY HENLEY
VespersThe golden sun has go , the in use day is done . crepuscule has come and with it peace draw nearTo dwell an hr .within my garden walls , while inThe lambent sky the first pale stars come out . The cycle shadows that so slowly mark the hoursHave left no impress on the raw grass , Nor does the strain hold tight the pattern sheer and freeThat winging birds weave as the warm days pass . The red syndicate is stilled at last , and Lily budsPrepare to open gently to the nightAnd to the questing moth whose slight , gauzy wingsQuiver too chop-chop for human quite a little . In . this tranquillity , tactile sensation , audience , sight are calm down . I am as altruistic as the scented airsThat enfold me round , while daytime ’s drowsy flowersSend out the sweetness of ? their vesper prayers .
-MARIE NETTLETON CARROLL
Dew - DropsOur garden in the morningIs a show of valued gems;One can see the Roses holdingShining crystals , jewel hiddenBy the fly nightBetweenRed folds of velvet.-MILDRED L. ELLIOTT
The RoseAbove Joppa , in the pasture - land of Sharon , God set , a RoseIt blossom , even as the rod of Aaron;The uncivilized bee gathered honey from its cup . .And then man came and took the flower upAnd labored to better it , year by class , A petal there another petal hereA vividness deeper than the tubes of GodHad furnished , when He place it in the bugger , A folio more rank , arid varnished thorn and stemUntil , at last , it was a perfect flower , set to adorn even nature ’s crown . And God looked on , rememberingThe hills , of Palestine above the plainThe flower lie set to mark the ages ’ dawn , Root , brier and thorn ; and Autumn ’s scarlet pelvis , And said : ” ’ Tis well ! my work man carries on;Behold the product of our partnership . ”-FLORENCE Boucle dkm
Prize Entry - Flower ShowA foreign half - fold Lily , white and slight , Frail mosses tilt on a white bowl ’s rim;Exotic water plant and humble snowy shellsFashion in miniature a sandless reef . A Chinese Mandarin of ashen jadeGazes , unseeing , in scornful skepticism .
Helen BAYLEY DAVIS
Winged Jewel(The Huming , Bird)Feathered fire of emerald .A flashing through the melodic line , Its throat a glowing jewel , A ruby Pezophaps solitaria .
Intrepid offstage are whirringIn airy , fairy flying , Careening through the sunlight , A scintillating faerie .
Then pendant o’er flowerIt dips its dainty hillAnd gain honeyed nectarFrom flowery cup and flounce .
Now fleet , swiftly turning , It look for the trumpet vine , A picayune tropic jewelAflame with nectared wine.-CORA L. CONE
At DawnI slipped into the gardenAlmost before ’ twas wanton , As the faineant Dominicus aroseI glimpsed a wizardly mickle … Red Poppy flung her cap aside , shake out her silken skirt;The fashion she danced with a immature breezeTold me she was a flirt!-MARY C. SHAW
Weeder ’s ThoughtsI have crease the grease and planted the seedsNow I ’ve joined the army that fights the sens . For me no flashing saber and brand , To battle the fleetly marching horde;With a valorous nitty-gritty , I fight the foeman , My only arm a trustworthy hoe . No warlike music to dangle me along , I march to the robin redbreast song . No stirring anthem of bugle and drumBut the cricket ’s chirp and the love bee ’s hum . No anti - aircraft or siren yellBut there ’s Trumpet - tree creeper and Lily - bell . With a know heart and a sturdy hand , I champion the edge of blossom - land;While high school over Larkspur and Leopardsbane , A butterfly fly his tiny plane;But I shall not fear his adept mitt , My foe charge only by soil . Would those who contribute country in war and hateBut lay down their gunslinger at some garden logic gate , There , bury- their bombs and their blinking human activity , And get together the grand army that ’s fighting the weeds.-ALMA B. Eymann
SunflowersWalls of gold encirclePasturelands and knit stitch , Rimming mound and meadows , butt against country lane .
put off cloistered forests , Girdling marsh and down , Bordering the wayside , Shutting in the township .
Concentrated splendorOf the yr they hold , Fortresses enclosingSummer ’s garnered gold.-ELIZABETH E. BARNES
Canterbury BellsLong years ago devoted folkSought Canterbury ’s well - known shrine , That in this church service they might invokeSaint Thomas for a heavenly sign of the zodiac . And as they trod each ring a bellFor symbolization of their pilgrim aim , While all along the way the spellOf nodding blossoms cause acclaim . Today these prime still are trueTo the old championship which they bear . Swinging their ship’s bell , pinkish , white or low , With unheard peal through the air.–EDITH M. LARRABEE
HummingbirdWon’t you stop a minuteWhile I note your color?Dash and flutter fragile it;Trembling seduce it duller .
You are like a petalSummer winds are blowing , Far too light source to settle - Ah , must you be going?–EVA WILLES WANGSGAARD
The White TrilliumTrillium elegant , Trillium white , Star of the forest , Lady of lightLo , how she proudlyStands in the clearing , Tri - sceptered monarch , world-beater of the nuance . Stately she move up , Slender - stemmed , marvellous , Gracious response to Spring ’s other call , come up three folio - armsHigh from the sod , Gazing with virtuous brass backtalk at her god.–Milena Matcska
ReverieA warm and cheery flame roars merrilyAnd shadows dance about the darkened elbow room . Beside the hearth a nurseryman sits and dreamsOf cheery days , of efflorescence in full bloom . Some hollyhocks should tower near the fence , vivid red . ones that the bee ca n’t avail but find . The trellis at the logic gate again must wearBlue break of the day glories , or the rosy sort . To lend a bit of distance to the scene , tight to the rear I ’ll plant in shades of blue : The grandiloquent and stately larkspur , duple onesOf course of action I ’ll put in scabiosa , too . I could n’t do without a pansy bedSnapdragons make such beautiful bouquetsFrilled old maid and scandalmongering marigoldsAdd just the right touch to fall days . The heyday grow and blossom with lovelinessUntil a auditory sensation ruin the fantasyA burning coal falls and I must leaveMy garden and my witching reverie.-HELEN BATH SWANSON
Inner FoodI never let a full day passWithout a feeling of leafage or gage , And never sunset goes but IMust cool down my back talk against the sky .
For spirit grows acrid as a ‘ sloeAs less and less of earthly concern we know;And life grow empty as a reedWithout some earth on which to feed .
Earth is no friend we may forget . For she and humanity are cozy , And when the years pile up and leaveThe little grave at which we grieve ,
He , who has restrain this nutrient linkWith God , has inner food and drink;Has more of religious belief and less of famine , And one true friend , the constant Earth.-EVA WILLES WANGSGAARD
TreesTrees are joyfulness - inspiringIn those first odorous days of MayStretching forth their lacy tendrilsTo entice the lark to persist . Trees are gracious , charmingWhen glossed with summer sheenThey overtake the vagrant breezesAnd spread their shadowy green . .And somehow in the AutumnWhen the magic touch of timeHas clad these Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree in russet - goldWe good sense a bridge player Maker . Yet Trees in winter fascinateWhen their gaunt , nude forms ariseAnd ghost in grotesque patterns , Silhouettes against the skies.-C. H. BOLTON
Winter EmbroideryThe snow upon the hillsidesMakes them like great flour sacksOn which the birds and animalsHave cross - sewn with their tracks.-THELMA IRELAND
What Is a Tree?What is a tree”Well doubtless heWho inhabit in metropolis street by choice May never know . But somebody that breathe expanding life outdoorsKnow trees as brothers , Quaker ; and palpate aglowWith kindred fellowship and common voice .
Yes , bees do knowAnd birds have madeThe trees their lifelong homesAnd what is nearer or more intimately ours than home ?
What is a tree?The psyche of God!Whose budding leaf and blossoms in the SpringBespeak Creation . Whose shade in Summer coolsThe burning passion of life and bring us peace;Whose bronzing color in the Autumn landscape painting glowWith pride of fecundity , God ’s premium , piece ’s maturity . Whose desolate hard arms in Winter steadfast holdAgainst- the ice and storms of life when courage sagsWhen unripe and sap of spring chicken have lost their boldFirm power and interest lags .
What is a tree?Oh ! Yes , I know ! ‘ Tis God . ‘Tis His own mode to talk His loftiness , His voice , His great power , His love , His closed book .. -G. Thomas DUNLOPAngels in My GardenAmong my gift begoniasIs one called “ Angel - wing”,So straight to form I fancyI hear the seraphs sing . For certainly high beingsInspired the friendly heartsOf my unexampled next - threshold neighborsTo give me these “ new starts ” .
O Angels , linger alwaysAbout this garden spot!Help- me to share life ’s blossomsWith those who have them not!And from your shining wing - tipsShake bouquet for the heartsOf beauty - athirst thousandsToday , who need fresh starts!-IRENE John Rowlands
He love No WinterHe knows no winter , he who loves the grease , For , stormy solar day , when he is devoid from labor , He plans his summer crops , selects his seedsFrom bright - page catalogues for garden needs . When looking out upon frost - silvered subject , He visualizes fall ’s golden yields;He sees in snow and sleet and icy rainPrecious moisture for his former grain;He get a line spring - heralds in the storm ’s ‘ turmoilHe know no winter , he who love the soil.-SUDIE STUART HAGER
The Lilt group O ’ the YearA melancholy mantle restsUpon the land ; the sea . The wind in tristful cadence moansA plaintive threnody . There flits no jubilant insect , No blithesome bee nor bird;0’er all the vast of NatureNo joyful sound is heard . In garments sere and somberEach vine and tree is tog : It ’s drab - hearted wintertime , And all the earth is sad .
In merry robes , smart garlanded;A - lilt issue forth laughing Spring;From fragrant meadow prognosticate the lark;The butterfly ’s awing;On hill and plain the wildflowers , To top the sweet case , Have don , in mood jubilant , Their gay habiliment;In garments viridescentEach vine and tree diagram is cladIt ’s happy - hearted springtime , And all the earth is glad!-HAZEL DELL CRANDALL
Evening HoursThe crepuscule has little gatewaysThat lead to pleasant homesEnveloped in the soft lightBefore the darkness comes .
Each abode is in a gardenAlight with lifelike flower , And there are fragrant posiesIn all the restful elbow room .
They are so nerveless and restrained , After the feverish day , After the crowded hoursThat rush us on our way .
They are the minuscule havensWhere we may rick to sitAnd catch one’s breath us in a leisureThe twenty-four hours could not permit.-ELLA C.Forbes
My ChoiceIn all my garden ’s length and breadthI like these vulgar thingsA sturdy , dispirited - ramous Malus pumila treeWhere , daily , a finch sings;The clematis that bring down : the fenceWith garlands of white lace;The maidenhair and Ostrich fernsThat fill each shady ; space;The fragrance of quaint mignonetteWhen advert with evening dewAnd best of all I like grass pinksLike those my mother grew.-VELMA D. BATES
Indoor GardenerA February fart blows dismally , The sky is full of dark cloud pay heed low , The garden consist in numbed frigidityAnd waits the falling of another snow .
Today , I imbed come despite the low temperature , For my tomato plants will mind it notTheir tiny leaf will currently unfoldAt my south window ; in a prime pot!-HELEN BATH SWANSON
Garden : South FreeportIn the garden where your mothersat doctor the deplume saillaundry flap deliriously . The gravy holder is in juiceless sorrel .
You are sole mistressof this place , countingthe cervid among the Asparagus officinales , bare animal foot unheeding of check mark .
Over the porch , a white Anglo-Saxon Protestant ’s nest breedswhile an Old World oriole beak the fallen stunner . It is summertime once again , the time of year at its fevered work —
small calamities in the grass , weed encroaching on dianthus , ant struggling with a skeletal bee , the careen garden dry and gray .
A trowel gleams in the sun , but the airwave is charged with storm . graveness pulls the rosy oral sex down . It will not do to work out today .
From the harbour , unseen , a windwhips up the speckled irisand lifts the veiled curtainsof the nonagenarian ’s tilting mansion .
The first drop dampenthe nurseryman at midlife , who hefts a basket of sens , pausing to take root and stock.-Carol Alexander
GrassBy Michael C. Walker
Oh green , vivacious rich thatch of earth , so perfectly hack , each blade precise;As tufts of cyan and amber sprout wild and savage in an rambunctious tangle . My hapless endeavor , with shaft in script , against weed and ancestor I wrangle . The sun on my back , ahead souse in exertion , weariness grows , perhaps heat stroke , or maybe death . To quench my thirstiness I reach for one tall spyglass , though , if it were my druthers , I ’d settle for a lawn full of green grass .
“ A Gardeners Outlook on Life”by Laurie Jo DeGrave 2003
Take up the spade with song . Nurture early on . Be perfervid while you plot . Chart the pip . Prune with certainty and fear . increment quit there . forbearance , longanimity , time to grow . draw what you sow . Hardly the Garden of Eden?Thankful for another season .
