Miss Mary Martindale worked on and on,
Polishing her garden until it shone;
She wouldn’t let young children smell her roses,
Unless she knew that they had wiped heir noses.
And yet, somehow, her garden never earned
Those cries of ecstasy for which she yearned.
People admired her garden, it is true:
No Gentians had ever been so blue;
No garden paths were ever quite so neat;
You felt they were too fine for human feet.
The tennis lawn was cut and nicely rolled,
And yet, somehow, her garden left you cold.
This worried poor Miss Martindale a lot.
What was it that her garden hadn’t got?
Pausing beside her Salpiglossis bed,
She asked if I could tell her; so I said:
“Your garden lacks a modicum of weeds;
I’ll send along some Dandelion seeds.”
By Reginald Arkell
Photos taken at Esotera garden at Foddington,
near Babcary in Somerset.
A two acre garden with duckponds, wild havens (with plenty of weeds!),
shepherds huts, quirky objects and interesting places to sit and ponder.
Lots more photos taken but they seem to have gone awol :( grr!
Later they sat by the river and ate a simple meal.
They listened ... and watched.
Sometimes life is perfect.