Reply to "Classic Garden Poetry"

Vicky2Member

Written by: William Henry Davies

 A week ago I had a fire 
To warm my feet, my hands and face; 
Cold winds, that never make a friend, 
Crept in and out of every place.
 

Today the fields are rich in grass, 
And buttercups in thousands grow; 
I'll show the world where I have been-- 
With gold-dust seen on either shoe.
 

Till to my garden back I come, 
Where bumble-bees for hours and hours 
Sit on their soft, fat, velvet bums, 
To wriggle out of hollow flowers.

6/9/1512:35 PM

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