Poem from:

Beyond the Sea by Anne Fitzgerald

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Beauty Spot

Fitzgerald, Anne

What springs to mind is a far off digging 
sound, the likes of which you'd hear out 
west, as if slabs of wetness are being cut,
as a sleŠn is driven through wild peonies, cotton
-grass, and flowering swathes of bull rushes.
Come dusk, turf pyramids scatter a dying 
sun across lesser known layers, where bog oak  
is sought  after. It was our Cerberus drives home 
the fact wee young Emily Rose Aldershot 
had in fact being shot. Three bullets she took 
to the heart his nose found, our curious little cocker 
spaniel, not far below butterworth and sundew, 
in her embroidery anglicise holy communion frock.
Heather and blood-orange asphodels sway
as her white ribbon surrenders to inevitable dusk. 

Copyright © Anne Fitzgerald 2012

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