A rich green bramble rises alongside
Royal cenotaphs into competing sky,
Not that high but what a wind allows.
Wind controls mills in sky and below.

The bramble thinks it controls a wind
Over royal dead under the cenotaphs.
The royal dead do not think anything.
They may like to say off with the bush.


About nisheedhi

Retired banker with poetry and photography as chief interests
This entry was posted in Nature poetry, Uncategorized and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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