The following poem is from an old catalog of "Green Gate Gardens 1931" in Bennettsville, South Carolina. It sums up how I felt when we left Ted Baker's Iris Farm on Saturday:

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The garden with its little gate of green,
Invites you to enter, and view mysteries unseen,
Its vine laden bowers and overhanging trees,
The air filled with sweetness, the hum of the bees,
The flagged walks with Iris galore,
Of most beautiful coloring, unknown before,
Pink, white, purple, yellow, azure blue,
Mixed and mingled of every hue,
You come away wondering, can more beauty be seen
Than in the garden with its little gate of green.

Winstead

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