King of the Bean, not Mister Bean I hope.
No gastropod, of wassail take a slug.
Not going back to school, Lord of Misrule;
but a couple of teenagers lying
to be near me still flat out behind, on
their Holly day at Daddy's while I type
buried in their quiet phones like mice, as
the Yule Log dies in sullen slew of sparks...
'If music be the food of love play on'
and thereby rhyme that Christmas lights are gone;
unless you'd like small dryad in your tree
to suffer one full year's cacophony.
Bye-bye Christmas. I think that I might live:
for apples too, may my trees blossom give.
.....................................
*The poem is full of UK and European traditions EG
The Apple trees were sprinkled with wassail to ensure a good crop.
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Winter Trails
PoetryWinter Trails is an album of my poems, journeying through late fall when the wire of the trees begins to dominate, till the end of January. After promoting it and it soaring to three quarter million reads, Wattpad unceremoniously dumped it. Here it...
