September 3, 2018

Summer bastes me like a free-range chicken

With her wine and oil, and her lemon juice,

She throws in herbs fresh from her chopping,

I turn from white to brown; she cooks my goose.

As I come to full flavour so does she

Her plump arms freckled in the evening sun,

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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