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.
Mark Heathcote's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Dreaming Fruitfully Like A Flower Highbred by Mark Heathcote )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Dreams, Langston Hughes
- Tonight I can write the saddest lines, Pablo Neruda
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings, Maya Angelou
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- O Captain! My Captain!, Walt Whitman
Poem of the Day
- The final salutes, Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Why are we here?, Sarah Ferguson
- Chocolate, Akhtar Jawad
- Lost child in my own home, Hudhaifah Siyad
- scale, Nisha K. Janine
- Truth stands, gajanan mishra
- If only it were from me my Love, Hudhaifah Siyad
- Neither Hindugiri Nor Christiangiri Nor .., Bijay Kant Dubey
- Unbound, Nalini Jyotsana Chaturvedi
- The Mask We Wear, Is It Poetry