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Tag Archives Borage


for Elise Oliver


If, when I grow even older than I am

now and were, perhaps, too old to make poems,

I would become a sower of wildflowers.


Each year, I would begin with the Narrows,

an ancient path where our street ends –

where children are walked to school, commuters

walk to work, and revellers sway home

caterwauling. Each spring and summer

in the unkempt verges there would be the sight

and scent of Bird’s-foot Trefoil,