Broken Dream by Eira Needham

Sun bussed, she flaunts

white broderie anglaise
with ruby flares.

Hippy beads drape her neck

like a berry wreath.

Westerlies fanÍ she strides

through the garden,
in first bloom,

stoops to inhale

an Old Yellow Scotch.

Dark blotches blemish

its leaves like her hands.

Clouds veil the sun.

Limping now through woodlands.

she is drawn towards ancient trees,

saplings when Vikings invaded.

Once slender fingers reach out
to the gnarled arms
of Old Man of Calke.

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