Chestnut Blight
As each fatigued day culls my nature
Mine mind does Judas thee
And tinker pon the waves of hope
Muted Banshee
My blighted roots once writhed hitherto
Severed from earths comely breast
Mother natures contempt of me
Fair mumsy, she knows best
(Stark)
I adorn no vibrant leaves
Laird, wooden beast
Plucked till I stood bare
No blightsome shade for sibling seed
From summers wretched glare
(Raving)
With chestnut blight, my ashen crown
Looms remorsefully
And you my wretched parasite
Prefer to pick at me
Not with axe, nor barbarous force
Unjust chipping at my belief
Till I am lost and swathing
In painfilled cumbersome grief
(Mad!)
So whilst the heartwood settles near
And whilst I shed my final tear
Am crushed, lopped rooted out
Be ever headful, covet doubt
That even pon the vilest slope
Within Woolgather
Hush lullaby
Hope x
poem by Karen Sinclair
Added by Poetry Lover
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