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Showing posts from April, 2020

The Merrywinkle Grove

1. A foxbee trots in a grove, flower-to-flower,
her tail flailing side-to-side as her wings buzz to-and-fro
Ere darkness she returns to her burrow,
a small furrow, amidst Merrywinkle Grove,
of lush greens and violets against white snow.
A warm hearth in her heart
beats rhythmically to the thrum of the Earth,
waking with a soft glow.
She buzzes ere break of dawn
to visit the lawn unkempt and unowned
in the little farm brazen and forlorn.
In cups of merrywinkle in thickets of pinthorn,
spikelets of ashybrush and bristlecorn,
vines of contorted forms,
Step-by-step, on nimble feet,
she takes a sip, her wings beat,
oh, what fate, in has crept,
of cold sprinkled hate.
2. A fire-tailed rat offers petals to greet, and caches merrywinkle seeds to eat, ten feet ‘neath the peat. When the winds blow cold, with cotton his burrow he’d mould, and sleep on his bed of leaves in autumn breeze. He wakes early at daybreak, with the first summer shake, his blazing tail twitching at the summer’s gale, he inhal…