All along the hollow lane, wild cherry lets
its petals fall, not like confetti,
by desultory flake
discarded, their purpose served,
as Spring bustles on whistling.
Its focus now’s fixed
on building fruit, its intent
locked always on the germinal core,
those armoured seeds to come,
within which centuries of Aprils spiral,
their woods and hedges all a-brim with white blossom.
Poem by Dominic Harbinson
Dominic Harbinson has been a part-time poet and writer for 40 years, passionate about the preciousness of life and often transfixed by its beauty. He’ll quite happily spend way too much time shaping prose and trying to catch poems, some of which have recently been published in The Galway Review, Neologism, Orange Blush Zine and Discretionary Love. He and his wife run a busy Chinese medicine clinic in Canterbury, England.