white blossoms drift over the path
holes punched from some great document
catkins turn like dry worms
in the gutter,
red and bloodied from their fall,
ladybirds interrupt the page **
carrying warm numbers
upon their wings,
while the first bees fur the lindens
car horns walk listlessly
along the breeze,
and a patch of dark frost
biting on the wood mulch
tells us not everything has changed.
Daniel Fraser is a writer from Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire. His poetry and prose have featured in the LA Review of Books, Gorse, Aeon, Litro, and the Rumpus among others.
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