The last fuschia flowers are just hanging on…
Battered elegance.
Last fuschia gamely dances.
The show must go on.
Bruised ballerina
spins in tattered finery,
The last, lone fuschia.
(26/11/11)
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Sliabh Carn, lom agus maol…
Carbadán an drom
seanduine maol, cancarach
i lár an gheimhridh.
(19/11/11)
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Driving home at night along narrow country roads, in the corridor of your own headlights, the colours leap out at you.
Coppered side walls gleam
fox-bright in the starling dark.
Green winters to gold.
(12/11/11)
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The woods are lovely, dark and deep, with impossibly vivid floor of mosses.
Unfeasibly green,
moss carpet glows soft velvet
in the piney dark.
(05/11/11)