Sunday, 18 October 2015

Stung


( following poem in response to actual event yesterday)

Autumn morning
playing in garden
taking time out
tidying up,
cutting down brambles,
trimming the lawn.
In the undergrowth,
resting in fallen fruit,
a lone wasp waits,
in flight carrying poison,
in pursuit, heading in my direction,
releases a direct hit above my eye,
sticks its stinger beneath my skin,
now I sit, swollen and throbbing,
mother nature, thank you kindly,
for leaving me, with this surprise,
at least I have a little remedy,
it's called time and love,
the wasp gently flew off,
to face ongoing imminent threat.

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