Monday the start of a fresh, new week. Let's go....
THE FLOWER.
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"
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.
ReplyDeleteMarilyn, thank you for your comment, always very much appreciated. You are right with the weeds; it is in the eye of the beholder!
ReplyDelete