GRANDGARDENER - Crit, ****** crits - If I forget, I ALWAYS accept crits ! Options

[Alan]

GRANDGARDENER

The murmur of bee, the butter of fly,
peace-sounds of life, as it passes me by
while I sit and read, or snooze in the sun,
knowing full well my day’s duties are done.

Cabbage patch weeded, denuded of dolls,
now all raised up, a succession of squalls
about eating, dressing, when to do “doos”,
though in between, there’s been lots of fun too.

My garden efforts have paid off at last;
horticulture angst in my distant past.
Now it’s their turn, to worry and to fret :
I’ve passed on my former need to beget.

So delightful when begotten come by,
their young laughter fills my ear and my eye;
raising of small flowers takes quite a knack;
now specially true, I can give them back !

The murmur of bee, the butter of fly,
peace-sounds of life, as it passes me by
while I sit and read, or snooze in the sun,
knowing full well my day’s duties are done ....

Alan McAlpine Douglas

[Larry]

Hi Alan,

Didn't notice any astrisks denoting desires for crits so I won't. I do wish I were a grand gardener but, alas, I have failed to emulate my grandpa who was a master. Enough about the insinuations relevant to farming...
Seems this poem has nothing to do with vegetables (except the allusion) and a lot to do with progeny. Glad you can kick back and enjoy your grandchildren. You probably (secretly) enjoy watching your own kids trying to raise their kids and see your kids jump the same hurdles you had to jump while raising them. Wipe that grin off your face right now.

Larry

[Alan]

Dear Larry,

Thank you, I will always accept crits, but will probably forget the new signalling more times than not.

Anyway, I can hardly say this is about me, cuz I don't do gardening, or sitting around in a deck chair either. But from the response I have had, it does seem to be about a lot of other grumps like me.

Love
Alan

[Guest_ohsteve_*]

Alan, I am neither a grump or a gramp, but i am a Papa to three little scamps, and the youngest is going to be exactly like I was, wild, a double handful, and a mischievous grin the whole time. He says everyone else's name in his regular voice but when it come to calling me Papa he whispers it out like it was a secret between us. I think he knows there is something wrong and senses that he can't be as boistrous around me as he can others, although I know he has a very good set of lungs and vocal chords....LOL. Great piece, I love the metaphor.

Take care
Steve

[Alan]

Dear Steve,

Lovely to have such a sensitive child. How old are all yours ?

And thanks for the comments re poem.

Love
Alan

[Psyche]

Lovely rhyming quartets, Alan, and I'm also amused at the double meaning regarding grandkids.
Sweet flowers that one can hand back to the parents...LOL...

It is a bit sad, sometimes, to see one's children become parents and repeat a lot of the mistakes we made, or maybe make different ones.

Still, life goes on and perhaps our errors and labours are recompensed by seeing the little rascals graduate and actually become professionals or lead a fantastic creative life in one of the arts.

I see some lines that are a little off balance, IMHO, but the tone of your poem makes up for any tiny nits I might have.

I like the repetition of S1 at the end!

Love, Sylvia

[Alan]

Dear Sylvia,

So nice to see comment from you ! Glad you liked my conceit - not that I ever do any actual gardening in the garden, but I know lots of older folk do.

Love
Alan