Page 53 - BR October 2023 (1)
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October 2023                         October 2023
 sowing species such as Yellow Rattle,
 that specialise in parasitising courser      The Wren   POETRY
 grasses,  and  therefore  reduce                        CORNER
 competition  and  help  other  species   In  a  garden,  beside  a  wall,  where  in  Autumn,  apples
 to  grow.  We  began  this  in   fall.
 September  with  a  volunteer  work   Where in Winter cold winds blow, where in Spring the bluebells grow,
 party to rake and move all the grass   And although my brain I rack, it will not yield that, which I lack.
 cuttings from the field. It was a very
 hot  day,  but  the  9  volunteers   I remember the where, but not the when, I chanced upon a little wren.
 persevered  as  usual,  and  we
 cleared  a  large  area  of  cuttings   Beside a pond with frog and newt, there is a twisted chestnut root,
 during the day. This kind of work will   Where a hedgehog takes a rest, because that is where he makes a nest.
 continue in both Spring and Autumn,   Although it seems so far away, it only feels like yesterday.
 and  we  should  start  to  see  a  lovely
 wildflower meadow developing in the coming years.   I remember the where, but not the when, I chanced upon a little wren.

 As ever, if you would like to get in contact with me, please do drop me (Seb) an   Seasons come and seasons go. They pave the way for what we know.
 email at shaggett@dorsetwildlifetrust.org.uk.   That’s not to say, it may have been, a time of not quite in between.
       Not quite Winter, not quite Spring, there are no bells, they do not ring.
       I remember the where, but not the when, I chanced upon a little wren.

       Whilst against my shed I leant, she came in close and then she went,
       With consternation and with care, because she knew that I was there.
       I had paused from doing things, to admire her tiny wings.
       I remember the where, but not the when, I chanced upon a little wren.

       Seasons come and seasons go. They pave the way for what we know.
       That’s not to say, it may have been, a time of not quite in between.
       Not quite Winter, not quite Spring, there are no bells, they do not ring.
       I remember the where, but not the when, I chanced upon a little wren.



















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