In a Pickle

In a pickle, I must choose

Which to keep and which to lose,

Which to weed, and which to use

For a tasty treat.


Eyesight, don’t deceive me now,

Sweat, don’t drip from over brow,

I must save just dill somehow,

So pickles I can eat!

This photo isn’t incredibly exciting – who takes pictures of weeds?  But this little poem came to me as I was scrolling through my stash of garden shots, and I thought it was kind of cute!  🙂

Family Picnic

Just like a family picnic –

you and your various mini-me’s assemble in riotous good nature,

a plethora of shapes and colours and identities and ages;

a neat baker’s dozen of assorted pastries

dipped in philosophical frosting

and whetted on the milk of human kindness.

Each brings its own flavour as a side-dish;

dessert is served in the sweetness with which

you coddle your brood.