Our
walk today took us to Waggoners Wells, where there is a plaque commemorating a
poem written there by Tennyson in 1863.
Here
is what Alf wrote:
"Flower
in the crannied wall"
Flower in the crannied
wall,
I pluck you out of the
crannies,
I hold you here, root
and all, in my hand,
Little flower—but if I
could understand
What you are, root and
all, and all in all,
I should know what God
and man is.
Here
is the poem I wrote today:
Flower in the crannied
wall
I leave you just where
I found you
If every bugger tore
out the flora
Mankind would all be
much the poorer
Tennyson, poet or a
know it all?
Vandal. That is God’s
(and also my) view
Will
I get a plaque? Will I bollocks.
7 comments:
On the other hand, flora predated walls and so the little blossom is damned if it does and damned if it doesn't, so to speak. Ripping the wall down on its own, or ripped out by the likes of Alf.
I am on the side of the flowers, Joanne. I don't even wear them in my hair these days.
Beware of the flowers 'cos I'm sure they're gonna get you, yeah.
John Otway, 1977. Maybe he was thinking the same thing.
Perhaps the poetic old git didn't really uproot the flower...he might have been high on laudman and only thought he did.But I doubt they'll give you a plaque.
Richard. John Otway. Really?
Dinah. Do you mean he just made stuff up? What kind of art is that?
I got yer plaque right here.
:-D
Pearl
And where are you going to put it, pray?
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