Often I'd search out the blue
Often I'd search out the blue of forget-me-not
Back of some tall-hoary; May hawthorn, shabby hedge
Or right down to the waters marigold ledge
I'd dream of orchids the hybrid bergamot.
I'd look for these lost gems to find—there!
Which; grew the better where they were without care.
Entangled fighters at their wondrous best;
For them who had survived the cruellest test.
They; once fly-tip plants I would dig to cherish
But death my dear sits amongst the strongest flowers
Even to them the rubbish, heaps nourish.
Even to them that triumphed to flourish
Nodding to the lord who gave equal powers
Who bore the hardest test cast out his parish?
poem by Mark Heathcote
Added by Poetry Lover
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