And here it is again. As delectable as ever. I’m kicking off with a poem which is a favourite of mine and which I hope it is as pertinent today as it was on the day it was written.
The giddy blossom fluttering on the bough
Is fragile and ephemeral. And yet
Those careless frills, this frivolous display,
These dancing dresses guard the hidden seed,
The life in the inner womb, the close kept cell.
A new hatched chicken staggers from the egg
Damply ridiculous, yet swiftly dries
To a delicious puff-ball of delight
Whose fluffy softness hides the brittle bone,
And may deter a hungry predator.
The slithery kitten with its tight shut eyes,
Its questing mouth, its screwed up anguished face.
Swims into life far tougher than we know.
His silk is strength, his mew an incantation,
A call for help that may not be denied.
For youth is magic, its seductive charm
Protective in a world too geared to harm
The gentle, the delightful and the small.
Without its spell there’d be no life at all
Since fantasy allows the human brute
To tear the blossom as he eats the fruit.
And then just for the hell of it, here is the old Brooklyn poem which I’ve loved and enjoyed since I was a small child.
Spring is sprung, the grass is riz
I wonder where the boidies is
They say the boid is on the wing
But that’s absoid, the wing is on the boid!
And oh, what wings they are. I’m putting three more of my favourites up now. They’re delicious at any time of the year, but particularly so now.
Beryl Kingston Blog 