Who has lost this small pure heart? asks Tish. She has offered up this image for anyone who is inspired by it, to write whatever springs to mind.
Twisting, tumbling from a dense hedge
with a brief moment of gratitude for space.
It fell, it turned, raised a shocked face,
damp with the tears of morning mist,
when a thousand more dropped en masse,
to perish, impaled on blackthorn’s blades.
This Eglantine heart in gentlest Tyrian hue
will bear no royal crown, but a floral wreath
of Earth Chestnut will encircle its place of rest
and join with the detritus of seasons before.
This heart unbroken will nourish any tiny seed
and root that finds itself climbing skywards.
Thank you Tish.
All rights to this photo belong to Tish Farrell, Writer on the Edge.