I doubt anyone would label me a “poor old widow,” but I can relate to many things in this little poem. It’s given me a brand new idea, too, of sewing in my garden. Today would be fine day for that…
A WIDOW’S WEEDS
A poor old Widow in her weeds
Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds;
Not too shallow, and not too deep,
And down came April — drip — drip — drip.
Up shone May, like gold, and soon
Green as an arbour grew leafy June.
And now all summer she sits and sews
Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows,
Teasle and tansy, meadowsweet,
Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit;
Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells;
Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells;
Like Oberon’s meadows her garden is
Drowsy from dawn till dusk with bees.
Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs,
And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes;
And all she has is all she needs —-
A poor old Widow in her weeds.
-Walter de la Mare
Gladsome Lights 
it is a blessing to have moments of contentment like this 🙏🌿
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Oh, try it! But I warn you – the slightest breeze may make it impossible to thread your needle…
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That sounds like the voice of experience.
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You’ve got it.
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I think the bees and butterflies might prove to be a distraction.
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I suspect you are right!
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I would certainly not label you as “a poor, old widow”! In all honesty, would like you to offer me a few private lessons on your art of living.
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The poem is very beautiful 🙂
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