The Last Rose of Summer

Fall is definitely in the air but as long as the weather stays mild, the roses will keep on blooming. I cleaned up the garden this weekend, pulling out all the bedraggled annuals and planted the rest of my spring bulbs. I saw some roses are still blooming but they are smaller than the spring blooms and the color is more intense. I saw this beautiful rose blooming next to my back door. It’s named Dr. Jane Goodall, to honor the legendary ethologist and conservationist, Dr. Jane Goodall.

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Here is a lovely poem written by Thomas Moore (1779-1852) that carries my sentiment for the season.

‘Tis the last rose of summer

Left blooming alone;

All her lovely companions

Are faded and gone;

No flower of her kindred

No rosebud, is nigh,

To reflect back her blushes

To give sigh for sigh.

 

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one,

To pine on the stem;

Since the lovely are sleeping

Go sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly I scatter

Thy leaves o’er the bed,

Where thy mates of the garden

Lie scentless and dead.

 

Until next time. Stop and smell the roses.

Rosalinda Morgan

 

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The Gardener

Getting Ready for the Season

 

The gardener does not love to talk,

He makes me keep the gravel walk;

and when he puts his tools away,

He locks the door and takes the key.

 

Away behind the currant row

Where no one else but cook may go,

Far in the plots, I see him dig,

Old and serious, brown and big.

 

He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue,

Nor wishes to be spoken to.

He digs the flowers and cuts the hay,

And never seems to want to play.

 

Silly gardener! summer goes,

And winter comes with pinching toes,

When in the garden bare and brown

You must lay your barrow down.

 

Well now, and while the summer stays,

To profit by these garden days,

O how much wiser you would be

To play at Indian wars with me!

 

By Robert Louis Stevenson