Page Two
THE NEW BERN MIRROR, NEW BERN, N. C.
Friday, December 3, 1965
Buds
AND
Blossoms
MAMIE MIUER
“Turn unto the Lord your
God: for he Is gracious and
merciful, slow to anger, and of
great kindness.’’—Joel 2:13,
Plant bulbs that may be left
in the ground the year round.
The following will give you
plenty of beauty with little la
bor: Alliums, crocuses, tulips,
grape hyacinths, narcissi,
Irises, lilies, squllly snow
drops and many others.
Avoid use of green manure
on flowering bulbs. Bulbs do
not need too much moisture
for root growth.
Dig up canna tubers this fall
and place them in boxes or
pots, with each division having
an eye on It. Put them two
Inches In the soil. This will
give you a longer canna sea
son next spring, as they will
sprout Indoors earlier than In
the garden.
Don’t plant maples, elms or
poplars If your space is too
small. They have over pos
sessive roots. Did you ever
stump your toe on an overgrown
root? It was a perfect way to
get out of a little work by
having a smashed toe.
Enjoy the fall and winter,
Henry David Thoreau said,
“Nature will bear the clos
est Inspection, She invites us
to lay our eye level with her
smallest leaf, and take an in
sect view of its plain.’’
This week, for our Buds
and Blossoms poem, we turn
to Archibald MacLeish and his
“Immortal Autumn.’’
I
with
speak this poem now
grave and level voice
In praise of autumn of the
far-horn-wlndlng fall
praise the flower-barren
fields the clouds the tall
Unanswerlng branches where
the wind makes sudden
noise.
I praise the fall it is the human
season now
No more the foreign sun does
meddle at our earth
Enforce the green and thaw the
frozen soil to birth
Nor winter yet weigh all with
silence the pine bough.
But now in autumn with the black
and outcast crows
Share we the spacious world
the whispering year is gone
There is more room to live now
the once secret dawn
Comes late by daylight and the
dark unguarded goes.
Between the mutinous brave
burning of the leaves
And winter’s covering of our
hearts with his deep snow
We are alone there are no eve
ning birds we know
The naked moon the tame
stars circie at our eaves.
It is the human season on this
•steriie air
Do words outcarry breath the
sound goes on and on
1 hear a dead man’s cry from
autumn long since gone
I cry to you beyond this bitter
air.
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