Taste-test

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!