Friday, September 29, 2006

Harvest hedge

Although the air was September-fresh and fitted tightly round the skin,
It sang like summer and the plump berries shone like bells;

Blue sheen of sloe,
Red shine of rosehip;
Pregnant hawthorn and the purple wine of brimming

Hedge rows alive with a rare, rich alchemy;
Harvest-light sparkling in the nooks and crannies of branches;
And a parable half hidden on the horizons of consciousness...

Something about age,
And fruitfulness
And the nature of beauty.

(c) A Mc N


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