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Weeds and Buttercups
It was overgrown, full of weeds and Buttercups,
like a neglected old woman, time had taken its toll.
I walked along its verges, avoiding stinging nettles,
my toes sunk into wet grass where worms heads turned.
A huge Buddleia leaned on a dirty wall, aloof,
like silence when silence scorns.
Old cans of pop, no bubble, no fizz
lay discarded amongst the brambles beside a child's ball.
There was the fork, the spade, an old rake
ignoring each other, never used, going rusty,
but as I looked up, I saw the Magnolia, a queen, of queens
rising, majestically, above it all.
poem
by
Ruth Walters
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