22. (seven lines)

22.

Pool, mirror-still,
full of sky, fringed
with defensive ramparts
of sedge spears.

Leaves rustle underfoot,
whisper, hush
the green is coming.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

6 thoughts on “22. (seven lines)”

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