“To-day I think
Only with scents, – scents dead leaves yield,
And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed,
And the square mustard field;
Odours that rise
When the spade wounds the root of tree,
Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed,
Rhubarb or celery;
The smoke’s smell, too,
Flowing from where a bonfire burns
The dead, the waste, the dangerous,
And all to sweetness turns.
It is enough
To smell, to crumble the dark earth,
While the robin sings over again
Sad songs of Autumn mirth.”
From a poem called DIGGING.”
Edward Thomas, Collected Poems
ha, the last roses of the year. They just beam, don’t they?
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Yes they do, well spotted, and they are still coming into bud too 🙂
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wonderful post, Agnes
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Thank you very much indeed.
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