A curse to see the world in metaphor?
Ripe shoots that claw their way from molten womb,
unfurling from the crumbled, peaty gloom
and ushering bi-lingual semaphore.
Hard facts harangue A. fistulosum’s tang,
pale membranes peel, reveal a juicy core.
As Allium lays waste to mordant Rheum
our verse soars from the vaults; sweet metaphor.
~ My apologies to Messrs Tennyson, Waterhouse and Prater. Tennyson and Waterhouse for nicking the title of their poem/painting (albeit mis-spelt) and Prater for bastardising his Octain – I’m calling it a Dectain on account of each line having ten syllables instead of eight.