Woodland Clearings - Poem by Mark Heathcote
Life is a poisoned pinned brooch in living flesh
It is a midnight hour at the stroke of death.
It is a flowering walnut tree
Maybe it is just the debris of a holm oak a holly, a green sprig.
Somehow, it is still bleeding pressed into one palm,
In woodland clearings clapped together!
Ah, you think you will remain forever a sapling twig in your heart.
But no, it has these bitter black fruit berries
That once was red as dried blood.
Even now an unfettered unfed spring bird, early springtime
Won't glance a second of these as the hard winter passes.
The brooch on the ground, it is just a stroke at midnight hour
…It's a long forgotten flower on a long dead flowering tree
'Says the atheist' but I say thank God, that isn't me.
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