Quickthorn

Don't bring haw into the house at night

or in any month with a red fruit in season

or when starlings bank against the light,

don't bring haw in. Don't give me reason

to think you have hidden haw about you.

Tucked in secret, may its thorn thwart you.

Plucked in blossom, powdered by your thumb,

I will smell it for the hum of haw is long,

its hold is low and lilting. If you bring

haw in, I will know you want me gone

to the fairies and their jilting. I will know

you want me buried in the deep green field   

where god knows what is rotting.