Ah, Sun-flower, weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun,
Seeking after that sweet golden clime
Where the traveller's journey is done:
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow
Arise from the their graves, and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.
~By WILLIAM BLAKE~
we grew mammoth sunflowers this year, hung and dried them in our faithful school room, and today, under the sun - with sweat bees tickling our skin - we plucked the seeds from their clutching heads. hot work, but oh the bounty.
our plan is to bag them and sell them for 25cents this fall, that is if i can convince the littles to not nibble them all away...