As spring is a gorgeous month and in memory of my parents and their love of the garden here are a couple of dad’s poems to mum, based around her love of the garden, interspersed with pictures from our garden this week… your tour guides are ready to show you around.
The Garden of Marriage
21/10/89
Is married life a garden?
Comfortable, easy, secure,
Which seems to progress without undue stress
Or even the need for manure?
Where no season is early or late
And frost doesn’t dare to appear,
And snow only falls when Santa Claus calls,
And like him, has all gone by New year?
Well, is married life a garden
Where there’s never a problem or pest?
And the flowers and the shrubs in your planters and tubs
Never look less than their best?
Where no matter what you sow,
Perennial, hardly or tender,
Whatever the crop it won’t fade flop or drop
But just fills the borders with splendour.
But if married life was a garden
Where there was never a tear,
Where all of your seeds – but none of your weeds
Grow – year after year after year…
Where every job’s always a pleasure
And nothing is ever a chore;
If that’s married life, don’t you think, dearest wife,
It would all be a huge crashing bore?
But that is what some people like
With everything ordered and clear
All ups and no downs – and never a frown
Do I want to change ours? No fear!
Untitled
21/10/92
Barbara’s gone into the garden again
Like she has so often before
I know I’m not wrong ‘cos her anorak’s gone
And her slippers are by the back door
I knew when we woke on this cool Autumn day
With hardly a cloud in the sky
And the whole world sun-kissed, that she’d never resist
And would soon wave dull housework goodbye.
Look thro’ the French windows – see, there she is now
With her barrow loaded with tools
Where the October sun glows on a climbing pink rose
And late daisies still glimmer like jewels.
A robin is watching her every move
And now hungrily, hopefully lingers
As she kneels, trowel in hand, where bright dahlias stand
Untouched as yet by frosty fingers.
She makes things grow where none grew before
(Unlike me, her failures are few)
For the plants that she tends she loves like old frineds
And, like us, I think they love her too.
Barbara’s gone into the garden again
And there she will busily stay
‘Midst her flowers and shrubs and plant pots and tubs
And be happy the livelong day.
And when, all too soon, winter takes bitter hold
And lowering skies threaten snow
While we shiver and whinge and by fireside cringe
We all know where Barbara will go!!
Too much? Someone thinks so…
TanGental 
Lovely verses Geoffles! ❤
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Very tender words and splendid photos. Makes my garden look like a right scabby patch.
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He wrote straight from the heart. The best way. And we’ve been here 25 years so you’ve a way to go…
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It will still never look like that ‘sigh’.
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Beautiful 💝
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These are lovely and SO very English!
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Ah yes we try.
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Such a beautiful garden… and as barbtaub mentions “so very English” looking!!
The poem is delightful!
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It’s hit by frost this morning which might limit the apple crop. I’ll have to go and check for damage!
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Beautiful verse and garden glimpses, perfect to celebrate the love of your parents with spring.
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I love these Geoff. Your dad’s love for your mum shines through in his poems, and the garden pics are beautiful ::-)
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Thanks.
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Hi Geoff,
I can see why our garden’s not looking the best. Instead of disappearing out into the garden at any chance, I’m either writing or doing research and I might make it to the interior of the house but the outside is rather neglected. That also has much to do with our poor sandy soil.
Your garden is spectacular and very English. That said, my parents’ garden would be similar if it received due attention. It has the cottage wilderness garden look with very established camellias, rhododendrons, azalia’s Japanese maple trees and quite a few exotic plants left by a previous owner. In Spring, the whole front lawn breaks out with forget-me-nots and snowbells. The backyard, was invade by a rogue lemon balm plant. Our daughter once made a funny remark about Mama and Papas garden having herbs as weeds.
The irony of this, is that my Dad used to run a large scale lawn mowing business and was very particular about his clients’ lawns..a fact not lost on their difficult neighbour who threw the neighbours bin in the reserve after they didn’t bring it in and got stroppy with Dad about parking the work truck in the street because it “lowered the atmosphere” of the street. He also, we believe, put sugar in the petrol tank of a large truck which was parked in the street. He’s been very busy!
xx Ro
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Gosh what exciting lives!!!! Gardening is very therapeutic
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Love the poetry (and sentiment) as well as the gorgeous garden photos. ❤ I know you don't like to hear this (or don't agree or whatever) but you've got your father's talent for poetry.
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hmm well I’ll take the compliment because it is generously given but I’ve a way to go to do what he did…
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I knew you’d say something of the sort. I’m just saying that’s how I see it. 🙂
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thank you!!
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