Category Archives: roses
Wild Rose
Alberta’s provincial flower since 1930
My dress is frail and palest pink,
So delicate, my scent,
Before you try to pick me, think,
Or thorns will make a dent.
M is for Mice
Where is your mother, little mice?
You’d better get back into your nest.
Mama Mouse was found in an old apple box that, once she had jumped into it, was too high for her to jump out of.
Mama Mouse was exhausted from all the jumping efforts, and lay still after her rescue, soaking up the warmth until she recovered from her ordeal.
In a few moments, she perked up, and remembering her children, rushed to save them.
M is for Mighty Maisie the mama mouse and her three blind mice.
I know that some people are afraid of mice, but how do you think they feel about us?
Here is one of my favourite poems by Rose Fyleman:
Mice
I think mice
Are rather nice.
Their tails are long,
Their faces small.
They haven’t any chins at all.
Their ears are pink,
Their teeth are white.
They run about
The house at night.
They nibble things
They shouldn’t touch
And no one seems
To like them much.
But I think mice
Are nice.
First Dampish Days
A dampish day, but that’s okay,
The sky is overcast,
The garden’s wet, so I’m all set,
The watering chore is past.
A squirrel hops, he looks, and stops,
He chatters to my face,
Then turns to run and have more fun,
At some much safer place.
I pick a pear and am aware
That rabbits like to chew,
If fruit should fall to ground at all,
It’s nibbled through and through.
The garden thrives and gives up chives
To make a lovely sauce,
But not the squash, it was a wash,
Complete and total loss.
I’m glad that kale does not get stale,
It’s growing, slow but strong,
This healthy plant in soup just can’t
Make anything go wrong.
wordsfromanneli 