Brambling     Caught red handed, Well, purple really, Juice dripping down Guilty chin.   Bucket half full Promising wine, crumbles pies All lies If I don’t stop eating them Along the trail.   These jewels are not just mine I share them with Doves, pigeons, blackbirds Lon Dubh shouting As I invade His sacred space.   So I leave enough To feed the feathered folk Even knowing this means Imminent purple plopping On the bonnet of my Long suffering vehicle.   Dodging nettles Spiky brambles Benevolent thorns They take my juice As I seek theirs.   Caught red handed Purple hand gang States the seven-year-old As we fill our…