‘Tis the Last Rose of Summer

Blooming alone it might be, but it looks happy in my little pot, as does the holly with the sprig of conifer. All three were picked the same day, in this year of strange weather when the garden doesn’t know if it is coming or going.  Talking of going, I’m at Rowland’s Castle tomorrow. 10 ’til 1 in Village Hall. Looking forward to it.

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8 thoughts on “‘Tis the Last Rose of Summer

  1. Pingback: A Roland for Pete’s Oliver « Minutiae

    • A neat reference, much appreciated, and thanks for the link. The French line in my ancestry picks up on the Chanson – my father says he had to study it at the Lycée, but it never featured in my home counties grammar school cultural indoctrination.

  2. I went into the garden to have a look at my roses and found one too. And your choice of poem makes a point – there is something melancholy about summer beauty in (nearly) winter. Like the vases, by the way.

    • Ah! I thought you would know the poem, rather than the song. Melancholy, yes, but optimistic too (discounting the harsh biological reality of why these things happen).
      The vases started off as oil lamps, but I haven’t sold many as such. As soon as I put them on the stall with a sprig or a single-stem bloom, they started to move. Selling is so fickle.

  3. Lovely… a subtle reminder that Xmas is a coming, and strange weather here too, with the choisya in bloom again. All the best for tomorrow.

    • Thanks Celia. I wonder if you know the poem that the title comes from? It’s rather morose, Irish, and has often been set to music. I prefer the exuberance of the bloom, this word itself making an interesting literary allusion.

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