Long ago I planted roses
honeysuckle and a vine
to grow along a brand new fence.
Now the vine scrambles far and wide
with all twined with honeysuckle
that scents the air as it
wrestles writhing heavy pink roses
which are
so well-thorned they may defy pruning.
A purple clematis has stretched over
from next door
keen to join the lively party.
The fence is now hidden
implied only by a marked lean
after our opulent green abandon
cracked each post
sundering their hold
upon the rich earth beneath.
It is evident that Nature
if left
grows wild and strong
and I wonder what else is waiting for a spring
where it might sprout once more.
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Kim Whysall-Hammond grew up in London, but now lives deep in the English countryside. She has worked in both Climate Research and Telecommunications. A late comer to publishing poems, her poetry has appeared in Ink, Sweat and Tears, Bind Collective, Amsterdam Quarterly, London Grip, Crannóg and others. She also has poems in anthologies from Wild Pressed Books, Milk and Cake Press, Palewell Press, and Brigids Gate Press.