Counting my trees

I have been thinking about this poem since we moved into our ‘new house’.   I found the postcard I have with it written on as I was clearing out a drawer this week.  Its always been a favourite but takes on a new meaning now that I have a garden and can count my own trees.  Off the top of my head, we have one plum tree (with no plums to glean), two birch trees, three apple trees, one flowering currant and a rowan.

On not counting sheep by Helen B. Cruickshank

Seven apple trees, a willow and a pine

At the top of the garden, that makes nine,

A privet and a cypress,  a winter-flowering cherry,

A birth and a rowan, green tassel, crimson berry.

A juniper, a hazel, a laurel and a gean.

A yellow rose, a plum tree, with no plums to glean.

I’m counting my trees; no, I’m not counting sheep –

A rowan at the gateway,

I’m… falling… asleep.

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I started blogging after the birth of my first child. Since I stopped working, I realise I am defined far more by my relationships than by what I do. So, I am: wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend.

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