Bitter Harvest Poem by Brian Dodds
Bitter Harvest
The new moon has the old moon in her arms tonight,
and over Moseley the air is still, the stars wink
feebly through the light-spill of the city,
no chance of deadly storms outside; inside
my bones whisper of the Mistral shaking shoots
in Courthezon, leaves we thought we'd never see,
coldly insinuating it is time to go;
we cannot harvest what we did not sow
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8/28/2026 10:04:14 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
