1013

No tree in the park is truly straight,

Each leans slightly one way or the other

So rather than perfection, nature makes

Unique individuals from one mother.

So, Though this park was purpose planned

Nature gently upsets all the care

The gardeners take to keep its shape in hand

And the erstwhile visitors, unaware

Of the hours of work that go into

Making it look simple, just assume

That the occasional tweak is all you have to do

To achieve the wonders now in bloom.

But who trims my deadheads, water my roots

To ensure I thrive and bring new shoots?

Brian Hick September 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 13.10.23

 990

Fossiling

On Chesil Beach the turning tide is clear,

Even the thrash and push cannot conceal

The rolling pebbles underneath the waves

Which churn like jewels in the midsummer sun.

Yet picking up each perfect form they dry

And dull as if removal from that nether world

Of sea and shore, halfway between each,

Yet home to neither - like Schrodinger's cat -

Forces choice and so kills off the life

Which only blossoms when in constant flux

Between the two uncompromising worlds

Gringing against each other to produce

          The perfect smoothness which each pebble knows

          Ensures survival and a beach which grows.

Brian Hick August 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 12.9.23