Lurking behind every tree waiting
On the off chance to abduct
But the Daily Mail is read and scrunched
To light the fire
And thoughts ooze like slugs
The worst stories haunt and linger,
Pain pinned down by fonts and
She is out of sight,
Hidden in tree scrub and hedge.
Buffeted by wind, a scream would be lost,
The end of the garden is too far.
An anxiety riddled nest of magpies
Cawing, screeching guttural alarms,
Their joyous alert as a baby
Bird is ravaged.
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