(By Sil, the 1st of July, London)
Sprout
From barren ground
Bear enchanted fruit
To lure a king’s daughter
A feat that only
The well loved deliver
But don’t climb the fence
Just for the thrill
Of a blushing pear’s kiss
The shudder of pulp crush
Against sore teeth
Allow the wind
A rush of whisper
To silence Fear’s hostile hiss
Wellcome the flail
With arms of gold and thoughts of silver
There is no sweeter ambush.
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