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Farm, Megalong Valley

We leave the valley today.

Words to walk with:
By Emily Dickenson
The grass so little has to do,–
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,

And stir all day to pretty tunes
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;

And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine,–
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass
In odors so divine,
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away,–
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay.


  1. I do not know that poem and yet I shall love it till I die.

    oops .. I think someone has already used that scansion.

  2. The poem is lovely and perfect for the picture. A stand of dried rass is in its humble way, a very beautiful thing. It moves with the wind and reveals its subtle shades of brown and silver. And in the distance a stand of trees that look for all the world like long stemmed broccoli, of course I'm hungry as I write this.

  3. I like Emily Dickenson so much and the poem matches the photo very well.
    Winter is in its best here Joan, I've just felt tired with it for a while:)

  4. It's like the grass is whispering to me, the barbed wire it's accompaniment.

  5. A pleasant contrast between background and foreground. The colour of the grass really is the tone of this blog, especially in the summer months. South-East Australia looks like a very dry place.

  6. Vicki, great description.

    AB, it can be dry (and of course we've been going through very arid country over at Sweet Wayfaring but those places are 1000km from here) Right at this moment I'm putting up quite different weather for tomorrow's post in this blog.

  7. I love to see wild grasses - the more bucolic the better. I'm surely not as poetic as Miss Emily but I do prefer to see the grass rather than it's cousin, the mown lawn.


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