The Ingenious Mr. Fairchild
The purple heath, and golden broom,
On moory mountains catch the gale.
O’er lawns the Lilly sheds perfume,
The violet on the vale.
But this bold floweret climbs the hill,
Hides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Plays on the margin of the rill,
Peeps round the foxes den.
Within the garden’s cultured round
It shares the sweet carnation’s bed;
And blooms on consecrated ground,
In honor of the dead.
For my Uncle, James D. Hodges, 1946 - 2011