Local Poetry Of The Mat-Su

Got Poetry.jpg

Ode To Rhubarb

Contributed by Linda Myers-Steele

Some call it a bit too sour, but I call it my friend.
It pops up early summer and continues to the end.
I make pies, crisps and jelly. Then put some in the ‘stil.
Boil up the leaves to make the bad bugs ill.
Then about mid-summer, I stir concrete in a ’barrow,
Making bird baths for robins and sparrows.
Time to give the ‘stil a stir, but no tasting yet.
Some make it into wine, and is it good? You bet!
Towards the end of sunshine when leaves will start to fall,
It’s time to empty out the ‘stil into bottles for later call.
What is it about that rhubarb that holds such great allure?
Come winter near the fire hearth, a glass of pink liqueur.

This tribute is written to rhubarb; the oft ignored garden plant. It provides the ingredients for many yummy baked goods, the poisonous leaves can be boiled to make an effective bug spray, stalks mixed with berries develop into wonderful wines, the strongly veined leaves make beautiful concrete castings for bird baths and garden art, but my favorite is the lovely pink liqueur that tastes so good on a cold winter night.

2012 revised 2017