Seems that it has been a good summer for Queen Anne’s Lace — it’s everywhere.

In sort of a peculiar way the amount of it has reminded me of when I was teaching and one of my young rocket launchers would be screaming, “Look at me, look at me.” You know the drill, attention needed.

Maybe the Queen Anne’s Lace was trying to get my attention. And it did. What a beautiful intricately woven gem. Guess I got the message. So much so that I searched the Encyclopedia Britannica online (takes up a little less room on the laptop) for more information.

Quite an interesting story about Queen Anne’s stitching competition and how she pricked her finger, her blood becoming the singular touch of color at the center of the “lace.”

And a lovely little poem shared on there too, which was nice. Take a peek sometime at the Queen’s Lace; it’s pretty impressive. Now here’s the poem by Mary Leslie Newton.

Queen Anne, Queen Anne, has washed her lace

(She chose a summer's day)

And hung it in a grassy place

To whiten, if it may.

Queen Anne, Queen Anne, has left it there,

And slept the dewy night;

Then waked, to find the sunshine fair,

And all the meadows white.

Queen Anne, Queen Anne, is dead and gone

(She died a summer's day),

But left her lace to whiten in

Each weed-entangled way!