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Michael Edwards

DESERTED NOW

 

 

 

DESERTED NOW

 

 

The burning  light of summer sun

its  fire-light fingers  reach between

the shed door slats and delve the dark

where  knots of matted web are spun

unseen by sun blind eyes.

 

Deserted now no more the sounds

of men in sheds

who cared the grounds

and left behind the roses.