The Fox and Grape

This was written while taking a weeks break at St Deiniol’s library in Hawarden. I frequented the pubs at the top of the lane and the name of one got me thinking:

 

The fox and grape are striving;

One to escape, one to surrender.

 

My life is fleeing

the raging sound

of hound and master,

horse and horn.

They hunt me to collapse,

I flee and founder.

Tenacious teeth not forbidden their plunder.

 

I am ripened to perfection,

pluck me, pummel me,

squeeze my life to freedom.

That I might kiss

as berry, or oak,

the tongue of a welcome stranger. 

 

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