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.