O Calendula

O Calendula thou art sick.
The invisible worm,
That flies in the night
In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed
Of vermilion joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

Apologies to Mr Blake.
There are small things at the heart of the calendula but I don't think it minds!
Working on the book, transplanting tomatoes and walking the headland - that's enough for one day.