poetry time

The Call of the Open

by Percy Bysshe Shelley

Which yet joined not scent to hue,
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dun and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal sun.

Spent most of the morning in the garden, cutting the grass and pulling the weeds up. And tomorrow the hedge is up for a good trim :-)
this afternoon took a ride out to see a friend and spotted this pretty flower, and seeing as tho Archie the dog didnt want to pose for a photo today, the flower gets the nod :-)