On Finding My Fern Dead From Frost And Exposure.
I left her out in the sun,
the weather was warm, her soil moist,
But I forgot her
and midnight’s garden is different to day’s.
The temperature dropped
Gentle, gentle soft fronds of green,
changed to grey and brown,
curling dead fingers.
The ice like an old man’s beard
hung from her pretty face,
once green now black.
She did not recover,
but shrank into her glazed red pot.
No more spring breezes
that so excited her into growth
would ever dance through
her life loving leaves again.
June is the month of The Bomber, my debut novel. It will be released on the 24th. Please ask your local book seller or your favorite online book store for more information.
THE BOMBER JUNE 24th