Autumn Sonnet

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Conkers

A horse chestnut at autumn’s turn
Hangs spiky balls amongst its leaves
And though a wind the branches churn
The young arboreal scrotum cleaves
Until a fading sun for summer grieves
And turns to brown these procreating seeds
Then ‘mongst tossing branches as a fresh wind weaves
The squirrel scurries, brave with acrobatic deeds
Daring all for that on which it feeds
To munch and chew this harvest from the tree
And store for winter that which squirrel needs
While shiny gonads drop for all to see
To indicate that winter’s nigh
Amongst our feet the goolies lie.

 

Dave Tomlin
Pic: Nick Victor

 


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One Response to Autumn Sonnet

  1. Mike Burke says:

    Dave, you came, you saw, you conkered!

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