Such beautiful colours and textures.
At the risk of repeating myself I love growing veg. in buckets because they can be moved around to chase the sun.
Some of my garden came with me to Brighton in pots from London and bring back family memories.
.
But the cherry tree my mother had bought me was fully grown so I decided to buy another one This year as the pink blossom falls I think of Jamie one of my grandson’s now living in Japan.
Apparently a white camellia was traditional for great grandfather’s buttonhole.
It’s great to see you
just a whisper in your ear
Spring is nearly here.
I could not resist putting that one on facebook
—
Rosemary is for remembrance as well as a wonderful herb. Bees love the flowers which seem to go on for ever and ever.
Mayhem and madness in March while rooks weave their nests
lined with soft green moss
—
I moved here soon after my mother had died and this poem is about her Oleander.
The Oleander
We found it in Albi,
no gentle sketch
but boldly painted
bright and blowzy
heady with scent,
out for a good time.
In London.
loving the culture
pink petals
flirted with passers-by
revelled in attention
posed for pictures.
Uprooted to Brighton
in a white fleece shroud
it faltered
leaves fell
naked boughs mourned
sensing life had passed.
Two years later
in a new pot
on a south facing wall
tiny green shoots emerge,
pink blossoms
show their party faces.
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