Dock seeds in the harbour of life
Like small unvalued coins, tokens
Strung like beads on pointed fingers to the sun;
Virginal green now, untouched,
Later to become ripely reddened,
Luscious as rich blood-flow
And then rust, dried, wizened,
Dropping to the ground to be buried, changed
And resurrected in fresh new form.
Leaves broadly dimple, soft balm for life’s stings;
Crush first that healing can flow,
While sharp jagged nettles adjacent,
Their spiking punk aggressive hooks manifold
Catch even the unaware in their burning pain.
Kittie Carr
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