Rhubarb Poems - Poems about Rhubarb

the noble rhubarb breathtaking Himalayas rare awesome flower...

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There's something going on around here, something special. Something's being tossed in the bowl- (sort of speak). Something that to my likes, tastes and smells as good as any cheery pie, apple strudel, or creme filled pastry. I suppose it's in the air, or, in the soup, if I may say. I sense a great...

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have you tried tangy zingy rhubarb pie? I like the taste, oh my, oh my! I like the colors of pink and green everything about it is terribly keen. I like rhubarb pie cold, it is a dream! It is fantastic too warmed up with vanilla ice cream granulated sugar on top makes the crust sweet and real I gulp this tart...

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I just saw a little beast outside! I think he has scurried off to hide! Is he a little chubby with a pretty face? That’s Rhubarb my hedgehog, he has such grace. You mean you are feeding this rodent creature? I surely am, he is like watching a double feature. He’s funny and sassy and he scurries with attitude. I love everything...

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Having lived out in the country when I grew up near a farm in our large garden, we grew rhubarb large stocks of it, big as my arm My mother made loads of it we called it stewed rhubarb left it to cool before entering fridge then have a bowl of it with custard Since these childhood days I've always loved it so much but...

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pink and green rhubarb found renegade and leafy best pie ever baked...

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My husband bought a little treat, A favorite thing I love to eat. We rarely see this anywhere So take advantage when it’s there. I never ate this in my youth For what’s inside, to tell the truth, Is something that did not compute – It seemed more veggie than a fruit. I’m talkin’ rhubarb, as in pie, With strawberries to satisfy My taste buds,...

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Kermes crushed to yield the dye; A warming colour of pinkish hue But a finer harvest can be made To delight the eyes and taste buds too Fine in trifles, crumbles and tarts Shared after summer walks Or in the depth of winters cold We'll devour our crimson stalks...

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They wait in the streets with a bucket and spade The gardeners waiting for a horse to oblige First it is the milkman, with bottles a rattling Then the coalman with his nutty slag in a bag The horses of each carrier doesn’t look like he will Lift his tail scrunch his face and do what they want He is waiting...

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I put my shoes on back to front to step into the past, sent my watch by express mail to make the time go fast. Wrote 'atom' down as 'mtao' just to generate unclear fusion, told my friends I wasn't there but an optical illusion. Put my head on upside down for a thicker head of hair and no beard, when you can't think of...

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You must know where to look for wild rhubarb. Walking along the busy street, cars whizzing by, no real hope for the suffocated earth beneath the road. The bitter beauty awaits in darkened edges of sun-starved trails, seeking no one’s approval, the wild man enjoys the bitterness, preferring edges of the surface under the cultivated variety……admiring the dance of the green...

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Oh for a taste of rhubarb pie! Home picked, home baked-- Mouth watering, I don’t lie. A tart and sweet delicious delight; Tingles, mingles with the tongue. Mom always cooked it just right! Some might let theirs go to waste, But I’ll eat their piece without delay, I just love that capricious taste! Note* I haven’t had a piece of Rhubarb pie since my dear...

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Tart fruit, hidden close within a vegetable- Cicely will make it sweeter....

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