Nonacook, Thank You for also sending prayers for my brother and prayers back to you as I remember you recently lost your DH. I Love your gardens and saw the bird feeder on the lamp base. What a cute idea and I just happen to have the ingredients for the recipe :-)Your cabin and garden looked like many good times were enjoyed there. Sorry it no longer exists :-( I looked at your Elephants. I collect'em too and have one like your gray one you have sitting by the amber pole arrangement. I got mine many years ago at a FM in Texas. He has moved with me everywhere and is looking old for sure, but he still sits in front of my house all weathered but still has that sweet look on his face.

Here is something a bit lighter..... The Man in the Moon Came Down Too Soon There is an inn, a merry old inn beneath an old grey hill, And there they brew a beer so brown That the Man in the Moon himself came down one night to drink his fill. The ostler has a tipsy cat that plays a five-stringed fiddle; And up and down he saws his bow Now squeaking high, now purring low, now sawing in the middle. The landlord keeps a little dog that is mighty fond of jokes; When there's good cheer among the guests, He cocks an ear at all the jests and laughs until he chokes. They also keep a hornéd cow as proud as any queen; But music turns her head like ale, And makes her wave her tufted tail and dance upon the green. And O! the rows of silver dishes and the store of silver spoons! For Sunday there's a special pair, And these they polish up with care on Saturday afternoons. The Man in the Moon was drinking deep, and the cat began to wail; A dish and a spoon on the table danced, The cow in the garden madly pranced and the little dog chased his tail. The Man in the Moon took another mug, and then rolled beneath his chair; And there he dozed and dreamed of ale, Till in the sky the stars were pale, and dawn was in the air. Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat: 'The white horses of the Moon, They neigh and champ their silver bits; But their master's been and drowned his wits, and the Sun'll be rising soon!' So the cat on the fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle, a jig that would wake the dead: He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune, While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon: 'It's after three!' he said. They rolled the Man slowly up the hill and bundled him into the Moon, While his horses galloped up in rear, And the cow came capering like a deer, and a dish ran up with the spoon. Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle; the dog began to roar, The cow and the horses stood on their heads; The guests all bounded from their beds and danced upon the floor. With a ping and a pang the fiddle-strings broke! the cow jumped over the Moon, And the little dog laughed to see such fun, And the Saturday dish went off at a run with the silver Sunday spoon. The round Moon rolled behind the hill, as the Sun raised up her head. She* hardly believed her fiery eyes; For though it was day, to her surprise they all went back to bed! -- J. R. R. Tolkien Here is a link that might be useful: Source

Regina, yes I wrote it but it sure is a lot revised from the original, and will get revised again because it still needs work. For instance, in my mind, Kent gets squished--not just his wish. Hey, maybe that's what the title of it should be. lol. Bugs kind of frustrate me...not in a real big way but just enough to make my head wonder about some of them and if I were only smart then I wouldn't get stuck on really dumb issues such as....why do you eat up your food source bug; so, um, anyway, in my mind, that bug Kent was brilliant to grow his own. However, since bugs don't really do that (I mean, bugs meaning Aphids, or scale, etc.), the poem is more a cautionary...(the moral of the story) be careful for what is wished and/or maybe rather how it is wished. You could get squished. The Limerick by Hopeful In Brevard is ten thousand times better: Little bug chewing on my grass You certainly have a lot of class, Apon a weed you wouldn't feed You claim they give you gas. Straight to the point and a knee slapper! Lol! Bravo!

I probably shouldn't post this again but.... Once upon a morning dreary, while I pondered weak and weary Over many a cold and omnous forecast in the newspapor, Suddenly, there came a dropping, as of rain so gently plopping, Softly falling, dripping, sopping, over heath and hill and moor. Tis not snow, at least, I muttered, not een looking out the door - Merely rain, and nothing more. Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November And the deer had just dismembered all my plants (damned herbivores). Eagerly I wished the summer; winter, it is such a bummer Nary does one see a hummer* in the garden anymore. Though Grevillea victoriae blooms brightly as before, Rain, it keeps them all indoor. Presently my heart grew stronger, for the sound of rain no longer dripped and dropped and plipped and plopped as so incessantly before. Well! said I, A welcome ending to the rain so unrelenting! Now, before the chance eludes me, I had better go outdoors. For so many tasks awaited, miscellaneous lame chores - So I opened wide the door. Deep into that daylight glaring, long I stood there cursing, swearing, For now from the sky was falling snow, and not rain as before; Making not a sound they drifted, subtle, soft, by wind uplifted Flakes of whiteness now alighting fore the threshold of my door. Silence, it deceived me sorely; winter with its icy hoar Settled now its frigid score. Back into the kitchen breezing, closing door to keep from freezing, From the cold air briefly wheezing, pitching out the newspapor, For its forecast had deceived me, and the snow that fell now grieved me, Now I sat before the TV to discern what was in store. Now, said I, to get the latest bout this blizzard that doth roar, TWC** will know for sure.' But I soon became disgusted, finding they could not be trusted, For their forecast still suggested rain was all twould be in store. Surely, said I, Any schmo can look outside and see the snow That falls upon my garden so, though TWC ignore. So I cast aside the rèmote, snowy blast preparing for, Stepped once more outside the door. Now I knew the task before me, to protect these plants so warmly Lest they freeze and die, as in the frigid wintertimes of yore. So I labored, although vainly, for the snow had now quite plainly Covered stem and leaf completely, blanketing the garden oer. Yet into my heated greenhouse yet untouchèd by the hoar I hauled many plants, though sore. But the nighttime, eer foreboding, now upon me came in closing, Ere I knew it all was dark, and on the snow fell as before. And the wind now came up blowing, further worsening the snowing, While the temperture was lowring, so I had to get indoor, Lest the stinging crystals biting freeze my body to the core, So at last I went indoor. Now the garden, it lies frozen; Im regretting I had chosen Many plants not suited to this climate far from milder shore. And the memry of my losses gnaws upon me, while I tosses Fragments of the plants that froze upon the blazing heap that roars, Yes, a bonfire to dispose of all the plants that grew before - Now quite dead, forevermore. *Anna's hummingbird **The Weather Channel