Every day something new is born in my garden. This morning as I left, I had to take a few pictures of the climbing roses on my front porch. It's the first time they've bloomed since I planted them four years ago. They're deep red and at least four small blossoms to the end of each shoot. Now that I know they don't like to be cut back, maybe I'll get blooms every year. Between the roses and irises, I have lots of color out front now, but the greatest surprise was in the backyard. A robin flew from under the LadyBanks roses over my archway, so I poked around and realized the reason she was there: a nestful of newly born babies. Yup, spring is here!
As always, a poem to associate with my subject. Today's choice is perfect: Emily Dickinson's "For Every Bird A Nest."
For every Bird a Nest --
Wherefore in timid quest
Some little Wren goes seeking round --
Wherefore when boughs are free --
Households in every tree --
Pilgrim be found?
Perhaps a home too high --
Ah Aristocracy!
The little Wren desires --
Perhaps of twig so fine --
Of twine e'en superfine,
Her pride aspires --
The Lark is not ashamed
To build upon the ground
Her modest house --
Yet who of all the throng
Dancing around the sun
Does so rejoice?
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