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The Mimosa Tree

Mimosa buds hold fire, they hold it, then
Explode into the first three weeks of March.
The tree is coming to maturity.

The equinoctial gales, on cue, blow hard
For two days and a night, and snap the trunk.
They make a road block of the yellow cloud.

How sharp can be bereavement of a thing
When all it leaves to love are blossom stains
Which run in rain in a diminished street.

Audio file

Listen to this poem — read by Zawe Ashton