by Ivor Gurney
The ordered curly and plain cabbages
Are all set out like school-children in rows;
In six short weeks shall these no longer please,
For with that ink-proud lady the rose, pleasure goes.
I cannot think what moved the poet men
So to write panegyrics of that foolish
Simpleton - while wild-rose as fresh again
Lives, and the drowsed cabbages keep soil coolish.
Last updated July 01, 2015