Poetry

Timphony

 Weird to be here to hear,

in this field of wild lupins

laden with seed and lost

for harvest, this low symphony

of simple percussion:

the click of castanets

as dry pods dehisce

and discharge a timpani,

a timphony of seeds

to complement

the rattle of maracas

as the unpopped pods

shake in the arrhythmic air.

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