By: Kate Davies

Apr 21 2010

Category: plant, seeds

1 Comment

heritage seeds. from Kate.


One comment on “kate”

  1. The Seed-Shop

    Here in a quiet and dusty room they lie,
    Faded as crumbled stone or shifting sand,
    Forlorn as ashes, shrivelled, scentless, dry –
    Meadows and gardens running through my hand.

    In this brown husk a dale of hawthorn dreams;
    A cedar in this narrow cell is thrust
    That will drink deeply of a century’s streams;
    These lilies shall make summer on my dust.

    Here in their safe and simple house of death,
    Sealed in their shells, a million roses leap;
    Here I can blow a garden with my breath,
    And in my hand a forest lies asleep.

    Muriel Stuart

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