Foxgloves
These garden escapes, hardy stalwarts,
have legged it from the border -
they have said goodbye to the shade-loving ferns
and broken free from the boundary wall
to seed in chippings, chesil slack,
a no-man's land by the standing trucks
blushing like children at the station box
who trespass for kicks in forbidden plots,
the place moire beautiful than ever before
because of their bright bravado.
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