May poem



The country vegetables scorn
To lie about in shops,
They stand upright as they were born
In neatly-patterned crops;

And when you want your dinner you
Don't buy it from a shelf,
You find a lettuce fresh with dew
And pull it for yourself;

You pick an apronful of peas
And shell them on the spot.
You cut a cabbage, if you please,
To pop into the pot.

The folk who their potatoes buy
From sacks before they sup,
Miss half of the potato's joy,
And that's to dig it up.

~Eleanor Farjeon


  1. Oh, goodness, how I love Eleanor Farjeon! I'd never read this poem, though- thank you for sharing! Do you have The New Book of Days by her? It's lovely- I read something from it almost every morning during Grove Tending.

    1. Elise,
      I do *not* have The New Book of Days, but I am going to have to track it down! Thank you for the recommendation!

  2. How true that poem rings! Growing food is part of the joy of eating it. :)

    1. That's what I thought when I read it. I love her language, too-- "you cut a cabbage, if you please, to pop into the pot".


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