They had gone,
the followers.


Calm fell
on the garden
stripped from
creeping wallflowers
of 		Sunbury-On-Thames
I funeral walked the 
clipped path
the followers fell into step.

Next layer in
filled with		small things

bush speckled with star anis
little prickled backs
of conker shells
and baby mushrooms,
black withered pears clung
to bird-nest branches
peeping cold sky.

Final layer
Leafy shudders on insect footfall

I crept up on the 
white flowers
poking smooth white heads
through white skin
and tight-roped the ivy

Lost in carved names
I was alone.
(literally ... and poetically 
		of course)

They had gone,
the followers
strewn across the landscape
like petal flakes
that twitched on the lawn.
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