veiled
she picks her slow arthritic way
where bramble nettle hogweed
snag and twist
beneath a furnaced sky
and still
dry bleach seeded grass straw yields
if only reverence
and sombre on this blistering day
when life melts
and crumbles into ash
and YOU
might be forgiven
for thinking folly at this final act
once promised now this compose widows chore
as she
whispers by the bee box
whispers by the bee box
whispers by the bee box
whispers by the bee box
whispers by the bee box