"Gardens, Writing and the Cycle of Life"
While you'll usually find my essays and poetry safely ensconced within the confines of my "Waltzes with Words" blog, this is one of those laid-back Sunday mornings, where I've blurred the lines between gardening and writing. I recently discovered this long-forgotten piece, actually presumed lost, so though I'd let it see the light of day and share it with fellow writers and gardeners... just a little food for thought... enjoy!
By Deb Lambert
While you'll usually find my essays and poetry safely ensconced within the confines of my "Waltzes with Words" blog, this is one of those laid-back Sunday mornings, where I've blurred the lines between gardening and writing. I recently discovered this long-forgotten piece, actually presumed lost, so though I'd let it see the light of day and share it with fellow writers and gardeners... just a little food for thought... enjoy!
By Deb Lambert
Were I a plant, you would find,
An herbaceous perennial, come to mind.
From a tiny seed did I sprout,
To hardy specimen, without a doubt.
The years are long, but I do proceed,
To spread and thrive and cast my seed.
My seed is essay, spawned from word;
I often wonder if it will ever be heard.
For, like the seasons, I do change;
Such varied thoughts through which to range.
Dormant in winter, within my home;
Bursting with ideas...no urge to roam.
Then comes spring, in burgeoning bloom;
Gone are the days of gray and gloom.
Greedily absorbing the sun’s golden rays;
Steeling myself for hot, sultry days.
I heal, I prosper in this season of green,
An integral part of my pastoral scene.
Now this “perennial” will flourish and grow,
As from her pen, her thoughts do flow.
Sharing her writings, as if they were seed,
Borne of blossoms encouraged by need.
As summer tightens her scorching grip,
This hardy “perennial” may sometimes slip.
Lying low, in the shade, away from the sun;
Hoping, against hope, inspiration will come.
And, come it does, in the form of a word,
An off-hand comment or the song of a bird.
Then summer withdraws her humid hand;
Crisp autumn has come to make a stand.
For the seasons must change and I must write;
Burning the oil, far into the night.
An herbaceous perennial, come to mind.
From a tiny seed did I sprout,
To hardy specimen, without a doubt.
The years are long, but I do proceed,
To spread and thrive and cast my seed.
My seed is essay, spawned from word;
I often wonder if it will ever be heard.
For, like the seasons, I do change;
Such varied thoughts through which to range.
Dormant in winter, within my home;
Bursting with ideas...no urge to roam.
Then comes spring, in burgeoning bloom;
Gone are the days of gray and gloom.
Greedily absorbing the sun’s golden rays;
Steeling myself for hot, sultry days.
I heal, I prosper in this season of green,
An integral part of my pastoral scene.
Now this “perennial” will flourish and grow,
As from her pen, her thoughts do flow.
Sharing her writings, as if they were seed,
Borne of blossoms encouraged by need.
As summer tightens her scorching grip,
This hardy “perennial” may sometimes slip.
Lying low, in the shade, away from the sun;
Hoping, against hope, inspiration will come.
And, come it does, in the form of a word,
An off-hand comment or the song of a bird.
Then summer withdraws her humid hand;
Crisp autumn has come to make a stand.
For the seasons must change and I must write;
Burning the oil, far into the night.
Hemerocallis (Daylily) Photo: ©S.W. Haddock, Jr 2006Burning the oil, far into the night.
Ever so hardy - I’m Hemerocallis, perhaps;
Preparing, once more, for long winter naps.
Did I brighten a day, bring a smile to some face?
Will my writings bear fruit in some faraway place?
Will these few simple words cause others to think,
That gardens and people share an infinite link?
And, so I look at my daylily-self;
With paper and pens and books on my shelf.
Someday, before long, my pen may be stilled;
But this venerable perennial, for now, is strong-willed.
Let me cast forth my thoughts and see where they land;
On a few more issues, will I yet take a stand.
For inveterate gardeners, like perennials, you see,
Go to seed, fade away, but bequest a key...
Since every gardener, be they mellow or stern,
Leaves imprints in the soil, through which we all learn.
And, so I continue to spread the word,
Until my daylily-thoughts have been heard.
The cycle of life, for a plant or a man...
Not so different, in the overall plan.
© Deb Lambert 2005
