Acid on the Tree
Of all the things in this wide world
The saddest is to see
Someone who’s drunk from Friendship’s bough
Pouring acid on the tree
T’was like walking through a leafy, garden lane
To the perfect, perfumed bower
When, concealed among the scented plants
You meet the ‘nightmare flower’
What is that doing here you ask?
With its dripping-poison leaves
So out of place in sublime surrounds
Manicured to please
Destiny had to play a hand
To save me from your kind
For as truly bad as you’d become
I’d surely turned as blind.
The Seychelles-based Burridge is, in reality, a writer and a legendary figure in these parts. He sports a trim goatee and a fugitive grin. The bespectacled author is also a tourism consultant and freelance copywriter. The compelling nature of his narrative imparts an aura of mystery to his persona and his tales.
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