Rusting Combustion.

With quince flowers still in short supply 

Bumble bees wincing in cocoons 

That straddle the fossilised ocean bed 

Like lanterns across the template of a print

The misplaced earlier hatching from the hive 

As a told you so rings across the frosted lawn

As Springtime in dormancy continues 

I fall back asleep waiting for fox gloves 

Amongst Rusting Combustion poetry 

And awaiting for thermometer rise.