I hope you all have some fab plans for the weekend. I am rather gloomy now the Christmas decorations have come down as I always find the house so bare and dull once the pretty decorations are taken down.
My chosen poem today is from a new poet for me. Sara Coleridge (1802-1852) was a translator, novelist and poet. Coleridge hailed from a very literary family, her father was the early Romantic poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Her uncle was the Poet Laureate Robert Southey and her neighbour was William Wordsworth. Coleridge was surrounded by talented poets.
The Garden Year January brings the snow, Makes our feet and fingers glow. February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again. March brings breezes, loud and shrill, To stir the dancing daffodil. April brings the primrose sweet, Scatters daises at our feet. May brings flocks of pretty lambs Skipping by their fleecy dams. June brings tulips, lilies, roses, Fills the children's hands with posies. Hot July brings cooling showers, Apricots, and gillyflowers. August brings the sheaves of corn, Then the harvest home is borne. Warm September brings the fruit; Sportsmen then begin to shoot. Fresh October brings the pheasant; Then to gather nuts is pleasant. Dull November brings the blast; Then the leaves are whirling fast. Chill December brings the sleet, Blazing fire, and Christmas treat. Sara Coleridge