Mark Heathcote (22/03/66 / Manchester)
Dreaming Fruitfully Like A Flower Highbred
Quite simply, we gardeners plan ahead.
Dreaming fruitfully like a flower highbred.
What next; might rise out of the bed?
Shaking, its white frothy, button gold head.
It’s a heaven we’re planning, full of virtue.
And nothing but nothing less will—do!
So, yes—disappointment reigns.
As we view and extend our terrains.
But people stop in awe… and ponder…
What godly hand what godly creature.
Tilled this earth, rounded it at every corner.
People stop in awe… as they wonder…
Who was it, without a single footprint?
Trod this clay, and left not a single dint.
Knocked not but one single dewdrop off…
The Alchemilla Mollis, Lady’s Mantle, ‘quaff’…
“It’s me the gardener behind the water trough,
I’m friends with butterflies, and also a show-off.
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