Signed, on each print, lower right: Michael Rothenstein
Printed, the poem: All things grow from it. That green you love | is the consequence of brown, the next | note in the series. The sawn tree-trunk | records, in yearly striations | the recurring hue of every | summer. Take a clod of earth, sift it | through your fingers. The colour of eggs | and the colour of mummy. Gardens | clad in the browns of autumn, fragile | bronze waiting for the wind, waiting to | tumble. We are far from the bones, | but near the beginning. The clean grin | of the bare trees and the snow covered | moorland is not the start. Steam rising | form a heap of compost. Green decays | to be green again in a round of days.
Inscribed, on each print, lower left: A/P 11/20 Inscribed, in pencil, on sheet with poem, lower right: for Dr. & Mrs. Baskin | warm regards| Michael | Rothenstein