Worcester – Vincent Edward Manda



Malformed, sick and dying

It was the only thing

Hinting at autumn

As swans glided effortlessly

In the river Severn

Which reflected a baking sun,

Strollers by the riverside,

Cars and buses on bridges

And trees bordering water.


Riddled with holes

Where insects had feasted and snacked

It drew my eye

More than the girls with long blond hair

And clothes barely there.


Half purple, a quarter green

And streaked with veins of yellow

Varying in size

From capillaries

To streams,

This autumnal leaf

Dying to fall off

Was an individual amidst

The thriving green and

Dry brown dead;

A thing in between

But hanging on

With a vivacious tenacity

That made it shine

And appear the most strikingly beautiful

Image of wonder

Visible in Worcester.


I resisted the overwhelming urge;

As is often felt

With the strange and out of place,

To pluck it,

Thus leaving it

To catch another’s eye.


his name rhymes with ‘mince’. He’s rarely without a notebook and can usually be found next to the closest bottle of red wine. Previously a writer for The Roehampton Lane Journal.

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