Not a good season she says
Leaves the green ones to rot
Lack of nutrients in the beds
She offers us the leavings
Durge for seasons passed
Then she spreads blood and bone
New planting she can't be arsed
So we live with the stink
Of potential plenitude
No seeds of good will be sown
Next seasons harvest
Shall be bitter fruit
Organic and locally grown
© shaun patrick green 2012
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