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Vegetables
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
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.
ReplyDeleteElise,
DeleteI do *not* have The New Book of Days, but I am going to have to track it down! Thank you for the recommendation!
How true that poem rings! Growing food is part of the joy of eating it. :)
ReplyDeleteThat'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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