Expecting a delivery
I hear a bang
like the slam
of a van door.
Through the window
nothing, no-one there.

Then I see it;
the splat,
the smear of blood
on the pane.
I find no sign
of injured bird —

but oh
how it must have hurt.


Last Rose

Ruby Red Rose
Is this the last rose,
ruby red against the fence?
Last blood of summer.

Clearing Brambles

Even through my gloves
my hands are pricked and scratched.
The cost of clearing brambles
paid in blood.

Site content copyright of Elizabeth Leaper (Libby).

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