A horticultural sonnet (Heaven forfend)...
[Proceed with caution]
I gaze about my modest yard and sigh
(I don’t have half the budget of Versailles).
I bow to Nenuphar on bended knees
(My pond is not size of Giverny’s)
But if I had a brush like Claude Monet
I’d paint my lily, not a stack of hay!
My list of plants is not as long as Kew’s
Ask me for cuttings though: I shan't refuse!
Try as I may I’ll never be half the trixter
That Christo was when he embellished Dixter
Nor will I reach the height of old Filoli
Where amber light in March is almost holy
And yet I love the limits of my garden
As much Beatrix did her own Dumbarton.