The Poetry Place


Thursday, 10 October 2013 11:54:16

Further revisions. changes shown in italics - cuts in brackets

I am dead-heading sunflowers

[Their[ heads bowed by their weight

Like guilty [children] kids, [but] though my height and more.

[Though] But these are not as humans, for

They are grateful for the loss:

With each snip of secateurs

The stem springs [up and] straight, relieved.

The great saucers, now old and black with seed

And rough to touch

Fall on the soft earth [/ or with a clump into my bucket]

Each one a giant pocket watch

Whose petals mark the minutes and hours

In faded gold. Here too

[(Are)] Mexican sunflowers toss their heads

Piercingly red against the blue

From which, miraculously,  new line

The clouds have fled.

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