After the recent Open Mic Poetry evening…
Our commune, type, collective farm,
rotated fields, mixed ’conomy -
not wheat and tares together sown -
but fruitful yield, across the stiles.
A garner edge where strangers tread,
all welcome, for none alien,
and hedges where wild life may thrive,
box mad March hares, conserving best.
From mouthing fears to miller’s flower,
or berried punnets, Greenman spells,
its seeding ears to cropping wields
a harvest, common market bound.
The wall protects our herbal scents,
medicinal, health giving plants,
each with a title, name attached -
both listening and speaking posts.