cherry blossom

Wild Cherry by Lou Farrell

Harbouring life, semi-enclosed biosphere, bracing wind
and driving rain.
Pushing through fences, splitting concrete and tarmac,
moving houses.
Hanging ivy drapes, wrapped in sections, stranglehold
giving insect coverage.
Spines turn into branches, flowers into wild cherries, buds
of sustenance.
Early in spring, equally autumn, bare except ivy, moving
with the depths of winter.
Counterparts next door, rooting and growing, never
taming the wild.
Shadows cast, summers days, heavy rains blasts early
leaves to the ground.
Hardiest cherry, bittersweet jam, sharing plentifully
with feathered beings.
Groove worn branch, swing long since gone, painful
break for both.
Plastic bags wrapped, distorting beauty, released
by long secateurs.
Serving community, four, six, eight, two legs, wood
does not burn.
Born for wilderness, alive in urban, flourishing in
suburban.
Away from forests, woodpecker presence, curlew
passing through.
An oasis, a pit-stop, a rest-stop, a wilderness
way station.

By Lou Farrell

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