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Aug 2020
Windstorm blowing through
suspending the days
Irish summer ending I shiver
at the darkness spreading
the white wisp morphing into black cloak

The fig tree stands branches wild
new sprouts shaking
second season raspberries
crushed on the wall
the tomato vine falls heavily to the ground

Sprigs jerking I sway
trunk holding fast until it fractures
I collapse and the fruits splatter
sap leaking I wipe my cheeks
flustered by my syrupy hands I stare

a sound a shout I straighten
the burgeons call
Storm Ellen, pandemic and bad news. The burgeons are my children.
Jenie
Written by
Jenie  F
(F)   
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