by Ben Pickard   Aug 20, 2018

Little bird nest, eggs and all,
I come to raid your wares at last.
Over truth, I set my stall:
The life you cradle will not last.

By and by, I'll loose those twigs,
Undressing that which grows beneath;
Make it crumble, brick by brick,
Then on the bones, I'll lay a wreath.
This was never meant to be -
Their flights curtailed by wingless stumps;
Leafless is this aged tree
Which houses all these lifeless lumps.


Ben Pickard 2018


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Latest Comments

  • 9 months ago

    by Milly Hayward

    Beautifully written as always. Milly x

  • 9 months ago

    by - Mr. Darcy

    Nicely written - pain etched with regret and a certain amount of controlled calm.
    All the best.

  • 9 months ago

    by charlie

    Moving piece of writing... Well done, Ben.

  • 9 months ago

    by Brenda

    Sad, truthful, longing all in one. Hugs my friend-

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