Bramble

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.

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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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