On my knees of delight holding tight
To the sight of all the English colours
The sweetest named peas march before me...
All named historically.
For some lightly.
My hues are sometimes subtle but
I am a pallette of paleness
Well thumbed but never used...
Not ever stricken scarlet
Like the pallid peas...
Never named a harlot.
Yet now this urge is winning me
To throw myself away...
To the hands waiting
With paints and the perspectives.
Maybe I must hath away...
To the garden filled so mickle.
Hey, the poem is lovely. I must say I have heard of mickle, although the spellchecker does not seem to recognize it. As for ‘hath away’, I have a suspicion that the author meant ‘hie away’ as in ‘to quickly be off or I shall be late’. (I must admit that Hathaway did come into my mind.) About those peas, I have a wonderful garden of sweetpeas of every color including some luminous white beauties. I appreciated the peas very much. The only suggestion I would make would be in the word ‘paleness’. I might have said ‘palette of pastels ‘. A lovely poem, so don’t sell yourself short. Adeline
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
But wasn't the fragrance a delight to remember...Oh and was not the re-thatch simply a delight. As far as 'Harlot' is concerned 'Scarlet' is not everyone's favourite tone especially when it has been expertly tuned. Sid.xx.