September
Aish trees gave their keys,
yet none will set me free.
The woody nightshade drooped her beads
an’ bade, Come feed on these.
Look behind yourself, red eyed
’gainst the wilder-mist to what you’ll find
I ascend three steps to hell.
The school bus heaves up the hill
The sloey spears on Witches Mead
cussed, Come and lean on these!
Look behind yourself, red eyed
’gainst the wilder-mist to what you’ll find
aish – ash tree; wilder-mist – steam on a window; sloey spears – the sharp spines on the branches of the sloe or blackthorn