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My Garden Gate

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My garden blooms with roses rare
And trees where nestlings mate
In early spring when soft winds sigh
Around my garden gate.

A rustic seat is hidden where
Both joys and sorrows wait
Where trumpet vine and daffodils
Bloom round my garden gate.

When woes beset on every hand
And sorrow seems my fate
I grab my hat and spend an hour
Beside my garden gate.

I bid my troubles all adieu
Until a later date
And find a peaceful haven there
Beside my garden gate

A poem by Blanche Elder Crispin,
my great grandmother
from her book “Drifting Sands”

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Comments

 

oh wohlibuli that poem is beautiful

24 Jul, 2008

 

True word spoken from your great grandmother Wohilbuli My troubles all seem to disappear when I am in my garden My little haven

24 Jul, 2008

 

Janette, I couldn't agree more with you. So they do. That's probably why we love gardening so much; it gives us peace and quiet, time to think. A lot better than housework, I must say. Wohlibuli, your great grandmother was a wonderful poet. I loved reading that. Don't you have any of her genes??? Blache is also such a poetic name I think. Thanks for sharing it with us.

25 Jul, 2008

 

Next time I'm by my garden gate I'll be thinking of this poem.

25 Jul, 2008

 

Glad you all enjoyed her poetry. She wrote most of her poetry during the depression and WWII, but she had a few about her everyday life.
Oh Marguerite I so agree with you, I would SOOO much rather be working in the garden than working in the house!!!

Unfortunately I do much better with prose than poetry. She was a great women I do remember that, but I don't think I take after her except maybe in the gardening genes..lol

25 Jul, 2008

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