| YouTube: | https://youtube.com/watch?v=SBEj2cNahtc |
| Previous: | Emily Graslie reads "Confession of a Bird Watcher" |
| Next: | Sarah Urist Green reads “The World is Too Much With Us” |
Categories
Statistics
| View count: | 3,795 |
| Likes: | 390 |
| Comments: | 17 |
| Duration: | 01:06 |
| Uploaded: | 2020-07-27 |
| Last sync: | 2024-04-11 14:45 |
Niki Hua, Ours Poetica's rights manager, reads a poem by Christian Milne titled “Sent with a Flower-Pot Begging a Slip of Geranium”.
Brought to you by Complexly, The Poetry Foundation, and poet Paige Lewis. Learn more: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/
11 issues of Poetry, subscribe today for $20: https://poetrymagazine.org/OursPoetica
Follow us elsewhere for the full Ours Poetica experience:
twitter.com/ourspoeticashow
instagram.com/ourspoeticashow
facebook.com/ourspoeticashow
#poetry #ourspoetica
Brought to you by Complexly, The Poetry Foundation, and poet Paige Lewis. Learn more: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/
11 issues of Poetry, subscribe today for $20: https://poetrymagazine.org/OursPoetica
Follow us elsewhere for the full Ours Poetica experience:
twitter.com/ourspoeticashow
instagram.com/ourspoeticashow
facebook.com/ourspoeticashow
#poetry #ourspoetica
Hi. My name is Niki Hua and I am Ours Poetica's rights manager. Today, I'll be reading "Sent with a Flower-Pot Begging a Slip of Geranium" by Christian Milne, a Scottish poet.
Sent with a Flower-Pot Begging a Slip of Geranium
I've sent my empty pot again
To beg another slip;
The last you gave, I'm grieved to tell
December's frost did nip.
I love fair Flora and her train
but nurse her children ill;
I tend too little, or too much;
They die from want of skill.
I blush to trouble you again,
Who've served me oft before;
But, should this die, I'll break the pot,
And trouble you no more.
Sent with a Flower-Pot Begging a Slip of Geranium
I've sent my empty pot again
To beg another slip;
The last you gave, I'm grieved to tell
December's frost did nip.
I love fair Flora and her train
but nurse her children ill;
I tend too little, or too much;
They die from want of skill.
I blush to trouble you again,
Who've served me oft before;
But, should this die, I'll break the pot,
And trouble you no more.