You talk of pale primroses,     
Of frail and fragrant posies,     
The cowslip and the cuckoo-flower     
that scent the spring-time lea.     
    
But give to me the heather,     
The honey-scented heather,     
The glowing gipsy heather--     
That is the flower for me!     
    
You love the garden alleys,     
Smooth-shaven lawns and valleys,     
The cornfield and the shady lane,     
and fisher-sails at sea.     
    
But give to me the moorland,     
The noble purple moorland,     
The free, far-stretching moorland--     
That is the land for me!     
    
~Flora Thompson~     
(1876 –1947)
13.5.09
~Heather~
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