The Wasp

Send us Fan MailThe WaspIt’s colder now, wings heavy, skies too grey for warmth life, and blossom, and still the wasp moves, struggling in spluttering steps across the broken stones. The fruits have fallen, time and leaf lie together, upon the frozen, naked ground.And though summer has passed away, and the dark is growing, through the clouded broken glass, I can still see the garden, the empty hands of abandoned trees, the colours of spring, piled amongst rope, recognition and roots. The broken fence has slipped further, underneath the fading stubs of bricks, the shattered  remains of a summer house from yesteryear, overgrown now, with bramble, brier and blackberry bushes.And still the wasp crawls closer. Can it see me, my face peering, beyond my reflection, deeper into the fall and beyond to the frosted moon and [email protected]