The Seed Shop

hugo de vriesHugo Marie de Vries ForMemRS (February, 1848 – May, 1935)

 

 

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 Irwin (1885 — 1967)

 

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4 CommentsLeave a comment

  1. Beautiful!

    • Hey you. Happy mother’s day to those of us who love some creature or other –or any number of creatures– with all our heart — whether or not our bodies have produced them. —We’ve nurtured them as best we can, and that’s all mothers can do.

  2. love this poem

  3. Reblogged this on Tales of Unwise Paths.


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