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​A memory contributed by Lord Zakwoof of Glenwoof, Gourmand and Scholar…


The natural grasses clock the age
Of seasons passing, green and beige;
The changes echo in the sage,
But lasting scent will there assuage.

Though buds be tan from life they sang, 
That sagely shrub will keep its tang
For every dog with lively fang
Who ventures brisk through scrubby land.

Its foliage near at shoulder height,
From where I tread on trails aright,
Does comfort bring in corners tight,
A verdant shawl, perfumed and light.

—Shortfellow (aka Lord Zakwoof of Glenwoof)