The Moss at Wimbledon Station
written by: Christian Ward
Spinach-snow if we’re aiming
for precision. A flattened
wig of it on the roof’s
corrugated scalp. Outlasting
the cold bringing everyone’s
bones to the surface it might.
Summer may force a surrender,
make the stragglers slip into cracks.
Stop by later to watch
the birds fatten themselves
on its bitter prayers.
Latest posts by Christian Ward (see all)
- The Quantum Entanglement of Bonnethead Sharks - February 29, 2024
- The Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve - November 23, 2023
- Remembering a Bait Shop in Tenby, Wales - August 17, 2023