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Belle Côte Bog, by Doreen LeBlanc

Belle Côte Bog, by Doreen LeBlanc

Belle Côte Bog Nestled in the dense moss Hanging by threads In the squishy spongy bog The ripe fruit Coated in a Purple misty fog Turning bright Cranberry red From the warmth Of my cold fingers By the Wharf I stand at the wharf As the fishermen unload They know their work I stand amazed As my young cousin deftly filets A mackerel for me Tossing the guts Overboard I know my own work Back in the city But it…

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