Foxglove

Just like the Foxglove,
Stand tall,
Never cowering, rise above.

Everything around one seems so serene,
calm…green.
Yet inside her beauty awaits a poison, dorment, still, not intentionally mean.

Cups full of love,
Deep and intricate,
Smothered by nettles,
Does her colour fade the sting?

Purely wild,
Unpredictable at night?
Or is she wondering if she were to receive a hug, would it release her poisin and fit her fearful heart like a glove.

Written by Francesca Shaw

Walking in Newmillerdam 2nd July 2021