Dreams and Dragonwort

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Apparently I was writing nonsense verse in my sleep, because I woke up with the following stuck in my head and hastily jotted it down before it could evanesce.

A blow, a blow,

A low and bitter blow,

And even more so

And ever more sorry

That that kind of story

that calls the sun "daisy-doe."

A blow, a blow,

A blotch upon our glory,

Struck from our history,

A blow, don't you know?

A blow.

Or maybe it was part of the dream's libretto.  I'll never know.


And tomorrow . . .

Marianne and I go off on an adventure.  Unfortunately, weather is a factor so there's only a fifty-fifty chance it will come off.  But if it does I'll be blogging about it Monday.


Above:  Dragonwort in bloom.  Only two sprigs in our front garden have bloomed so far; last time it was all of them en masse.  I should probably learn more about the plant's life cycle.

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