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    Nettles by Vernon Scannell

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    vani.ananthram25
    A young boy fell into a bed of nettles behind his family's shed, causing white blisters to form on his tender skin from the stings. His father comforted him until the pain subsided, then took a billhook and destroyed the nettles in fury. However, within two weeks the nettles had regrown even taller behind the shed, ensuring the boy would feel their sharp stings again in the future.

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    Nettles by Vernon Scannell

    Uploaded by

    vani.ananthram25
    406 views1 page
    A young boy fell into a bed of nettles behind his family's shed, causing white blisters to form on his tender skin from the stings. His father comforted him until the pain subsided, then took a billhook and destroyed the nettles in fury. However, within two weeks the nettles had regrown even taller behind the shed, ensuring the boy would feel their sharp stings again in the future.

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    A young boy fell into a bed of nettles behind his family's shed, causing white blisters to form on his tender skin from the stings. His father comforted him until the pain subsided, then took a billhook and destroyed the nettles in fury. However, within two weeks the nettles had regrown even taller behind the shed, ensuring the boy would feel their sharp stings again in the future.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as pdf or txt
    406 views1 page

    Nettles by Vernon Scannell

    Uploaded by

    vani.ananthram25
    A young boy fell into a bed of nettles behind his family's shed, causing white blisters to form on his tender skin from the stings. His father comforted him until the pain subsided, then took a billhook and destroyed the nettles in fury. However, within two weeks the nettles had regrown even taller behind the shed, ensuring the boy would feel their sharp stings again in the future.

    Copyright:

    © All Rights Reserved
    Download as PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Download as pdf or txt
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    Nettles

    By Vernon Scannell

    My son aged three fell in the nettle bed.


    'Bed' seemed a curious name for those green spears,
    That regiment of spite behind the shed:
    It was no place for rest. With sobs and tears
    The boy came seeking comfort and I saw
    White blisters beaded on his tender skin.
    We soothed him till his pain was not so raw.
    At last he offered us a watery grin,
    And then I took my billhook, honed the blade
    And went outside and slashed in fury with it
    Till not a nettle in that fierce parade
    Stood upright any more. And then I lit
    A funeral pyre to burn the fallen dead,
    But in two weeks the busy sun and rain
    Had called up tall recruits behind the shed:
    My son would often feel sharp wounds again.

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