Wild raspberry gin

(For J.S.)

The scent of wild raspberries

Lingers on my red-stained fingers.

Insects hum around me

At different pitches;

There isn’t a breath of wind.

I miss your joy

At tasting the first fruit of each season

As you lent on your walking stick.

You once told me

To take a spoonful of gin-soaked raisins

Every day;

Medicinal, you understand.

I pull raspberries off the woodland bushes

In hazy, silver-edged sunshine;

I’ll drink them, in your memory.


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