“INTO THE ROSE GARDEN”

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“Foot falls echo in the memory.

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Down the passage which we did not take.

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Towards the door we never opened.

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Into the rose garden.

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My words echo thus,

in your mind”.

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(T.S. Elliot Into the Rose Garden)

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21 thoughts on ““INTO THE ROSE GARDEN”

  1. I awoke in our charming villa in Malta to gaze out over the harbor at an ancient fortress and here came Virginia to sit beside me and share this beautiful poem by Elliot, her words glittering like the sun on the waves.

  2. Oh I LONG for the scent of your roses, your garden must be a little piece of heaven, I can just see you deadheading with your lovely basket and refusing to just throw the old petals away, I love roses, they are slow to come on here but can grow one or two.. c

    • When I lived on the Prairies I longed to grow big , lush, old fashioned roses. That is now possible. It’s in our blood. My grandfather was an avid and successful gardener, winning my awards at the local Horticultural Fair. I am an amateur compared to my children. My darling daughter was a Master Gardener, and one class away from getting her degree in agriculture from Guelph University. My son shares this love of gardening and has one of the most extensive collection of bamboo varieties in the lower Mainland. Gardening is good for the soul. V.

  3. I love this post, beautiful. I walk around my neighborhood where there are many rose gardens. The other day I stopped and took the liberty and it smelled just like a rose is supposed to smell. So many times, they can disappoint, but this grower was very good!!! Lovely post.

    • It is the old fashioned roses that have that breath-taking fragrance. You are fortunate to have a neighborhood with lovely gardens. Living in the country is really quite wonderful, but I love walking in neighborhoods. Our small village, offers this opportunity. I make a point of strolling around the older parts of Ladner simply to see the gardens. Virginia

      • You would love my roses. I have two large rose bushes – both Mother’s Day gifts from Callum. They grow in enormous pots close to my front door. On warm sunny mornings I take my coffee outside to watch the sun come up over the mountains – and to delight in the sight and perfume of my roses. Aunt Jean.

    • Yes my dear Resa. Those are my pictures. Those are my roses. I am so fortunate that I am able to share with all of you who read BEL’OCCHIO. It would be lovely if I could share my roses. A bouquet would look beautiful in your charming apartment. V.

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