RESURRECTED 89
Ladybird4
Third rock from the sunPosts: 26,532
Hello Rezzers. A view of Lingmell and Scafell Pike to start our new thread.
Link back to Resurrected 88:
Cacoethes: An irresistible urge to do something inadvisable
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Ladybird4
Third rock from the sunPosts: 26,532
Posts
Back slightly better this morning, but can't sit on the sofa comfortably. So still sitting on the grandfather chair.
Thank you for the
Link PF, might do
a few of the easier
looking ones for now.
I'm sure you'll find something suitable Debs. What was your mum's favourite colour? Perhaps you could add just a hint of something, like a light scarf with the black dress.
It's raining and very cold today, forecast for next week looks pretty grim too.
Have a good day everyone
Very best wishes on your birthday RB xx
Here, for anyone interested, is the ORIGINAL poem. Make your own judgement.
OUR England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You'll find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dung-pits and the tanks,
The rollers, carts, and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.
And there you'll see the gardeners, the men and 'prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise ;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.
And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows ;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.
Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:-" Oh, how beautiful," and sitting in the shade
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.
There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick,
There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick
But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.
Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
If it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner In the Glory of the Garden.
Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden that it may not pass away!
And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away
FIDDLESTICKS AND FLAPDOODLE!
That’s a lovely view. I wish we had a lovely view today. No compost has been shifted but a wall of drizzle is making its way down the valley and a heck of a wind is getting up.
I am cuddling a hot water bottle for something to do.😕
LB That is a beautiful poem and encompasses all the delights of gardening with a little nod to the hard work involved 💕