There’ll be pilgrims come to stare...

The gardens at Dolores Delargo Towers are showing signs of Spring...



Quiet please! Kindly don’t impede my concentration
I am sitting in the garden thinking thoughts of propagation
Of sowing and of nurturing the fruits my work will bear
And the place won’t know what’s hit it
Once I get up from me chair.

I’m at the planning stages now, if you should need to ask
And if I’m looking weary, it’s the rigours of the task
While the creation of a garden is a strain, as you can guess
So if my eyes should close, it isn’t sleep of course, it’s stress.

Oh, the mower I will cherish, and the tools I will oil
The dark, nutritious compost I will stroke into the soil
My sacrifice, devotion and heroic aftercare
Will leave you green with envy
Once I get up from me chair.

I’ve got lots of leeks to dibble and my runner beans to stake
And I want everything hung up – the garden hoe, the garden rake
I’ll disinfect the green house, when I’ve finished in the shed
Then, beside my faded roses, I will snip off every head.

I will excavate the bindweed, treat the moss upon the lawn
That hairy bittercress will curse the day that it was born
I will rise against the foe, and in the fight we will be matched
And the cabbage caterpillars they will curse the day they hatched.

Oh the branches I will layer and the cuttings I will take
Let other fellows dig a pond, I shall dig a LAKE

My garden – what a showpiece!
There’ll be pilgrims come to stare
And I’ll bow and take the credit
Once I get up from me chair.

Pam Ayres