Poetry by Cherry Doyle: Wild Harvest
Cast your nets to the wind, pull in the raven’s scold,
the swallows’ calls rolling away like beads, a shiver of grasshoppers.
Gather up the silk-skirt flick of harebells,
gold nuggets of August grass, meshed sticklebacks of gorse.
Harvest the dusk-ripened kiss of heather,
the grouse-brown plump of mushrooms, white wedding bells.
Put your hands among the stiff sunset of leaves,
twist off the berries, let the dark juice stain your throat.