Today I think only with scents

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Today I think

Only with scents, – scents dead leaves yield,

And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed,

And the square mustard field.

Odours that rise

When the spade wounds the root of the tree,

Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed,

Rhubarb or celery;

The smoke’s smell, too,

Flowing from where a bonfire burns

The dead, the waste, the dangerous,

And all to sweetness turns.

It is enough

To smell, to crumble the dark earth

While the robin sings over again

Sad songs of autumn mirth

Edward Thomas – Digging. Photos from a somewhat less wild Walthamstow.

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