Pulling Nettles After a Week of Rain

The weeks rain wasn’t in vain
And with a touch of perverted pleasure,
I weeded webs of nettles
At my leisure.
I’d prise a certain route in snaking pursuit
Of spidery shoots in soil, dark as soot.
It was quite a mesh, stringy and fresh.
And later still
With tangled limbs to the ground,
I heard a familiar sound
Weave through the dew.
So I bid adieu to the
Nets of stinging nettles,
Following the trail of a
Whistling kettle.

By Dermy McNally

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