Wednesday Poetry Break

I went looking for a poem on gardening/Spring/etc., in honor of my decision to take the day off work today so that I can get the vegetable garden in order and plant the lettuce (yes, it’s a little late for that in Maryland, but we’ll get something out of it).  This short little poem speaks to me on so many levels because of many different things going on in my world right now, and I find myself re-reading it and discovering something new each time. I hope you do, too. Enjoy.

The Gardener 85

Who are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak

of gold from yonder clouds.
Open your doors and look abroad.

From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of

an hundred years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, 
sending its glad voice across an hundred years.

— Rabindranath Tagore

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2 comments

  1. So beautiful. I can hear the spring flowers’ stories as I gaze out of my window and see the glories of the spring crocus and daffodils and the hints of green on the weeping willows.

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