Priceless

Some things you just can’t put a price on….

It’s not just the plants that give me such pleasure,
Deep in my garden lies its real hidden treasure.

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I use my garden to grow my soul,
To anchor my roots, to make me whole;
To understand how good it can feel
To weed out life’s trivia, to nurture what’s real;
To connect with nature, finding peace in its earth,
So how can I value what my garden is worth?

How To Look After Your Bougainvillea – An ‘Axe Tony’ Guide

About bougainvilleas
I’m writing a guide,
Using my methods
Which are trusted and tried.
Now if your plant is unruly,
And frustration grips
Then help is at hand,
Just follow my tips.
First hack off the branches,
Cut back as far as you can,
(With those dangerous spikes
That’s best left to a man).
When you’re just left
With the base of the plant
Take a good spade,
Held at a slant,
And dig out the roots,
Needs a little persistence,
I find wielding an axe
Overcomes their resistance.
Once the base and the roots
Are successfully removed
Throw them on the compost,
(Remember my method’s approved)
Then go tell your spouse
With a smile of your face
And her reaction will tell you
That you’re in disgrace.
So retrieve your bougainvillea
From the compost heap,
Dig a new hole
Nice and deep,
Add a little bonemeal
And some water too
And replant the bougainvillea,
It’s so easy to do.
And in a few months
You’ll see new branches shoot.
You see fixing a bougainvillea
Is really a hoot!

Garden Refugee

There is nowhere I’d rather be………………

When a person seeks a refuge
We call them a refugee,
So when I’m in my garden
Throw that mantle over me.
It is my church, my special place,
A sanctuary where I find peace;
The world outside is kept at bay,
And my soul can find release.

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With hoe in hand or watering can,
Under cloud or the blistering sun,
Life’s petty worries are cast aside
And with nature I become as one.
My garden’s where I truly find peace
As my plants I lovingly tend;
A safe haven that beckons me each day,
A refuge that’s become a true friend.

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The feel of the earth as I work with my hands
Makes the spirits inside of me rise;
I can think of no place I’d rather be,
No better sight for my sore, old eyes.
How can I value these gifts I receive
As my garden keeps on giving and giving?
I’ve found my asylum, I’ve made my escape;
A garden refugee; what a life to be living!

 

Jasmine

I am so lucky that I can now smell the jasmine

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It’s the start of my day,
With my dog at my side,
As I walk through the garden
There’s a smile I can’t hide
As I’m wrapped in the smell,
As I pass through my gate,
Of the jasmine’s perfume,
That lies there in wait
To attract me and the bees,
So we can both take our pleasure,
The bees hard at work,
Me, hard at leisure.

The scent heavy in the air,
As night becomes day,
Before the morning breeze
Carries the fragrance away.
And as I pause by the gate,
Close by where the jasmine rest,
And indulge myself
In what nature does best,
I think of earlier times,
Of how my days used to begin,
When I was too busy to pause
And smell the jasmine.