Borage, borage, borage

In light of my new foraging fun (I now forage at least once a week to make soup for Danda and I), I have got a book called Food For Free by Richard Mabey and am looking into things like edible flowers. I saw some beautiful photographs of borage and realised I’d seen it around quite a bit but not realised what I was looking at nor that I could eat it. And it looks beautiful on a plate of light summery fun, a salmon fillet perhaps and some greens. With some beautiful borage on the top.

In honour of this new discovery, I have composed some poetry. I would describe my style as philosophical and thought-provoking.

Borage, borage, borage

There’s a garden down the road with some borage,
I wish I had some borage,
I’d eat that borage with my porridge,
I’d have a breakfast of borage porridge.

I’d like to forage that borage,
I wish I had borage like that borage,
I think it’s my favourite borage,
And boy, do I like to forage!?
I’d like to forage that borage.
For my porridge.

Forage, borage, porridge.