Tin Pots For My Herbs Poem by james watkin

Tin Pots For My Herbs



Its official. You are now
True garden objects.
For saved tin potted rejects
Discarded with scorn.

Were it the world, which place quells
Through herb its unease.
Were it the world, and these, these
Its helmet war-worn!

Wednesday, April 21, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: garden
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james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
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