π·π©π»βπΎ π· I love to garden π·π©π»βπΎπ·
π·π©π»βπΎ The Glory Of The Garden π©π»βπΎπ·
π·π©π»βπΎπ By Rudyard Kipling ππ©π»βπΎπ·
Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You'll find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dung-pits and the tanks,
The rollers, carts, and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.
And there you'll see the gardeners, the men and 'prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise ;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.
www.kiplingsociety.co.uk/poems_garden.htm
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