The snaking bramble wraps itself around
the bush, the branches and my arms.
Its tail around my back, it lurches
catching me unawares, and bites.
I spin, it bites again. I twist
and turn, it bites once more. It’s always
faster, darting out of reach.
But I will not be beaten! No!
I persevere and tug and tug,
each pull a victory in perseverance.
Eventually I slump exhausted.
My body bears a thousand wounds,
but all around the bramble lies,
its broken body in submission,
the battle won…
…but not the war.

An afternoon of gardening. I have the scars to prove it.
(26.04.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Stefan Kostić on Unsplash