Monday, 21 March 2011


Monday the start of a fresh, new week. Let's go....


Once in a golden hour
  I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
  The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
  Thro' my garden-bower,
And muttering discontent
  Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
  It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
  Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide
  By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried
  `Splendid is the flower.'

Read my little fable:
  He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
  For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
  And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
  Call it but a weed.

Poetry by   Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Photo TS "my garden"


  1. Beautiful rain drops on your rose, like jewels, and I enjoyed the poem. A weed to one person is a free-growing wildflower to another.

  2. Marilyn, thank you for your comment, always very much appreciated. You are right with the weeds; it is in the eye of the beholder!