The Swamp Rose-Mallow of Brecksville Reservation
The following poem from The Boston Transcript on gathering Mallows is worth remembering:
"...Rooted deep in river slime, secret, hidden long,
Give them light, and air, and time, then they bloom to song.
Leaves of maple, copper stems, buds of emerald lustre,
Like a branch of rose-lit gems how the blossoms cluster.
See the silken petals lift, pink as baby's fingers,
Crimson heart, where still a drift of silver pollen lingers.
Lad, let's leave them at their best, in their stately growing,
Where the marsh-wren builds her nest, by the river flowing.
Let no wanton fingers harsh those sweet branches sever,
Then will mallows of the marsh in memory ever." | Source: Keeler, Harriet L. The Wayside Flowers of Summer. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1917. 114-116. Print.