This makes two weeks in a row of poems about gardening. I like it.
Dyspeptic Clerk
by Robert William Service
I think I'll buy a little field,
Though scant am I of pelf,
And hold the hope that it may yield
A living for myself;
For I have toiled ten thousand days
With ledger and with pen,
And I am sick of city ways
And soured with city men.
So I will plant my little plot
With lettuce, beans and peas;
Potatoes too - oh quite a lot,
An pear and apple trees.
My carrots will be coral pink,
My turnips ivory;
And I'll forget my pen and ink,
And office slavery.
My hut shall have a single room
Monastically bare;
A faggot fire for the winter gloom,
A table and a chair.
A Frugalist I call myself,
My needs are oh so small;
My luxury a classic shelf
Of poets on the wall.
Here as I dream, how grey and cold
The City seems to me;
Another world of green and gold
Incessantly I see.
So I will fling my pen away,
And learn a how to wield;
A cashbook and a stool today . . .
Soon, soon a Little Field.
6 comments:
Do you want to come out and help me in my garden? It needs some help ...
If there's one thing I like, it's the idea of a garden.
If there's one thing I hate, it's actually having to tend to a garden.
Beautiful.
I wonder how long it would take us to relax long enough to truly enjoy something like that. It sounds nice for a summer or so!
Well ... You wouldn't have to actually be responsible for it. you could just play and help me with the weeds and we could argue politics in person and throw real dirt at one another, instead of this faux dirt. Doesn't that sound fun? ;-)
Oh man, yes that does sound fun! Can I pretend to pull the weeds and not actually do it?
Nah ... if you want to throw real dirt, you have to pull real weeds ;-) ... but it's not that hard and my garden is pretty small. And Levi can help too. We just won't teach him to throw dirt ... or eat it.
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