This extravaganza of meadow flowers has been sown in a special plot at the National Botanical Gardens of Wales near Carmarthen. The idea is to attract pollinating insects, whose importance I think the Gardens is trying to emphasise.
I've got small flowerbed which is in a pretty neglected state and I've bought a selection of wildflower seeds which I shall sow in the spring, hoping to produce my own small scale version of this.
I was leading my small brother
Across the sands
But we let go our hands.
Q. What kind of music do stir-fry chefs like listening to?
A. Wok music!
Writing on the wall "May have been a textile", scholars say.
Summer winds
In the high grasslands
Autumn gales
In our forests
Winter storms
At our garden gates.
...a Teddy Bear that’s angry and mixed up?
Assorted!
They all did say, 'We know the way to go.'
And when I did demur, they did in turn deride.
'Yet still', I cried, 'I do not know;
That I shall trust you as a guide.'
'Suppose ten billion locusts take to wing,
Whole swarms will perish by the way.
Therefore are they right in everything?
This is the answer I can neither know; nor say.'
“Take care with that knife”, said Tom sharply.
“That instrument could kill someone!, said Tom bluntly.
I bought this really cheap cognac. It was awful, but then I noticed the label said “Brand D”.
Autumn
And it gets dark early now
Along the homeward lane.
I once did work above the soil,
But now beneath with worms do toil.
I've opened a new pub. It's called "The Thingy – An Unforgettable Venue."
Doesn’t it make you cry
When you look at all those stars
And think of the people living there?
Recently our astromers picked up faint traces of coversations on planet Lem.
Exclusively for our readers, we can give a short extract below, with translations from the Lemmish.
Lemming 1: Squeek, squeek, squeek (Shall we throw ourselves off the cliff?)
Chorus of Lemmings: Squeek, squeek, squeek, squeeeeeek (Oh go on, lets! Go for it! Whee! )
Q. What always comes to a sticky end?
A. A stick!
Q. What does an inn-spectre do?
A. Checks all the spirits in the pub!
My old Grandad was brilliant at cribbage. He pegged out at 78.
They say swans sing before they die.
To put it plain, this is a lie.
Footnote: There was once such a job as a swannerd, who I assume herded swans. From the OED
That there shall no Swannerd keep, or carry any swan book, but the King's Swannerd.
Thomas Moore wrote
I never nurs'd a dear gazelle,
To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well
And love me, it was sure to die.
In a related vein, here are some other animals that have joined the choir unseen.
I had a guinea pig: but its tale was short.
I had a mule: but it kicked the bucket.
I had a frog: but it croaked.
I had a a flatfish: but it's gone to a better place.
I had a chicken: but it crossed to the other side.
In the kitchen liquor kicks in quite quickly, hic!
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