Cut Flowers

Not in blue vases theseNor white, cut flowers are seenBut in the August meadowsWhen the reaper falls clean —And the shining and ridged rowsOf cut stalks show to the eyeAs if some child’s hand thereHad ranged them, and passed byTo other rows, other swathes,Moondaisies, pimpernel,Eyebright, sorrel, the pathsAre shining, the heaps as well.Violets in spring,Continue reading “Cut Flowers”