Disease made leaf-holes,
turned them ochre, odours
spread of sun-soured milk.

Planes, armed with a cure,
soared over manors, suburban
gardens, terraced courtyards.

Leaves emerged viridian,
stems broadened,
prickles sharpened.

Petals bloomed crimson
from burnt umber buds,
honey, and silken.

Ogres, our limbs stretched, stirred:
blossoms yawned, leaf-fingers
curled, thorns flew.

Our roots pulled
free from the ground;
we groped, plodded, strode.