Along the margin of the magic pond
where gardens grew most all year long,
and birds stayed busy making song;
where lilies, like pink Spring bonnets,
were too soon gone,
There, where weeds grow under April showers,
there is a sight to while the hours
sheltered in a shaded bower,
New seeds wait where a rail fence sets...
roost for sparrows.
Mo Buacaill, recall last rising moon?
Don't let weeds grow where flowers bloom.