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Jan 2011
Inedible frozen fruit appears sensual;
Wasted flesh dressed as blessed and fresh.
Life's cycle is unseasonal and inevitable
Now onto Winters unfair descent;
To perish like apples stacked in barrels;
Left to sour and rot to the most bitter core.
To hell with the gourd and the hazel shells
The prolonged farewells. Send me away to shore;
To Rome where I will walk beyond the gloam.
To warmer days that will silent my moan;
Where my master has rung out my knell.
© Erica Statham November 2010
Erica Statham
Written by
Erica Statham
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