Tuesday, November 10, 2015


Ah, taste the tide that drips from high
And drink its ebbing strain
The flower of its ‘my-oh-my’
Will never bloom again

Beyond yon fence the testaments
Of summer’s tatters lie
Beneath the blue and brooding tents
Of November-hung sky

Futile to weep upon a heap
Of what will never be
While morning pours from deep to deep
An almost-memory

So taste the tide that drips from high
For soon its tilted jar
Will drain the color from the sky
And pin it with a star

© Janet Martin

Speaking of taste-test,
last night for supper I tried this new recipe 

Do you have cabbage from the garden that could use some using?
These cabbage rolls are a Delicious!


Thank you for your visit to this porch. Any thoughts you would like to share?