foxheart

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Fox curls round

a rosequartz heart

in my garden.

 

Above her head

a rose is planted,

two dusky poppies

 

fresh from their pots.

Soon, around her heart

they will entwine

their roots.

 

In summer

we’ll remember her.

 

◄ warningwolverine

The Tooth ►

Comments

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Elaine Booth

Fri 1st Apr 2011 21:44

Ann, you have such a fine touch - another lovely poem. X

Philipos

Sun 27th Mar 2011 19:39

Ah Requium for a Renaud eh? What chance do they have on our roads. Nice poem Ann saw it a bit late in the day though x

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David Cooke

Sun 27th Mar 2011 16:46

A touching poem Ann. Reminds me I haven't seen our garden fox for quite a while.

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Greg Freeman

Sat 26th Mar 2011 19:13

I must own up at once to getting it a bit wrong, Ann! I jumped to the conclusion that this poem was about your late cat. Well done for what you did. This poem clearly has a lot of resonance.

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Ann Foxglove

Sat 26th Mar 2011 18:27

That's a very mysterious comment Greg - my poem must be deeper than I thought - but then, maybe it is. Basically, it's just another St Agnes roadkill story. A beautiful fox was killed by a car (very near to where a badger, also a subject for a poem) was killed a few weeks ago. Couldn't bear to see her gradually disintegrate, so went out early this morning and carried her home to bury in my garden. I didn't want anyone to think I'm odd (me? Odd??:) so I went out at dawn - felt like Burke and Hare! But poor beautiful fox, safe in my garden now, under a rosebush. Name of rose is Glorianna. A good name for a fox I'd say! And I buried her with a rosequartz heart, for luck! Thanks for kind comments. xx

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Greg Freeman

Sat 26th Mar 2011 18:21

Many of us on WOL will think we know what this is about, Ann. Simple and strong.

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Steven Waling

Sat 26th Mar 2011 14:14

Really like the spare simolicity of this. There's no sense of the wrier straining to make us feel something, just a bunch of simple words: reminds me of H.D. -

I like its simple imagism - the 'direct treatment of the thing' of it.

<Deleted User> (5011)

Sat 26th Mar 2011 11:12

Spare, tight, essential, a hint of something lost.
It's sad yet uplifting, wonderfully unsentimental whilst evoking sentiment.
Quartz is hard, cold; a heart that beats no more, yet the life that burgeons around it, is it willing the heart back to life?
And the whole hints at a poet's heart hovering between stone and life.
Blimey, see what your lovely poem did!

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