Help Us Stop Plagiarism -
Nearly all works at PnP are original. However a few people choose to plagiarize.
To check, choose a phrase from the work, then either drag and drop to the search box or copy and paste.
click on search and works at Google will be shown which match. Just to be sure, please do this before
you recommend or rate the work highly...
This is nice. I can just see you puttering away in your English Garden. And that's the nice thing about English Gardens (at least what I have seen), they don't have to be neat and tidy, just a lot of flowers growing everywhere; very natural.
What a wonderful poem. Beautiful flowers!
I love my garden as well. I have often wanted to write about it, but was afraid I could not do it justice. (as you have done so well with yours)
I do have trouble being patient with those seeds, though. I am excited when they come up, but I must admit I prefer the instant gratification of buying plants. Even at that, it takes some time for them to fill in nicely.
My cats believe I am making it pretty just for them. It's a funny thing to look outside and see the cat smelling roses, staring at various plants with an obvious smile on his face!
Thank you for the smile. When I get some rest after my trip this past week, I plan on reading some more of that book of yours.
Until then,
Debbie
I was a farm boy and have seen many things grow. The corn grows so fast and tall. We use to have a great big garden. Peas and new potatoes are the bomb!Sweet corn right off the stalk. These are the good times. Thanks, Anthony
The miracle of seeds springing to life has always and still continues to enthrall me. Every word you wrote echos the the feelings feelings in my heart. This poem is very well crafted; the form, meter and rhyme compliment the subject and hi-light the quiet joys of a spring garden.
This reminds me of the innocence of youth and why our essential nature is really no less beautiful than the world around us. I think of my own children, yesterday-- free and uninhibited, in our own backyard. Thanks for this tender poem.
My grandmother told me
that when she is gone, to look at her garden, for that is her sanctuary, her peace, and her child. What she gave life to, what she nurtured even as she felt herself get older. It is her own oasis in the desert.
She's near eighty...still doesn't act it. Still can whoop my rear end and proved it a few months ago the last time I ever did drugs. Couldn't walk for days >.< LOL But i guess it was touching at the time. :)