coughing on itching lungs,
tissues, the grass yellowing,
and a constant little breeze
swaying the trees and singing
through the leaves. soon enough,
boxes of chocolate in shops
and making the mincemeat -
stir and make a wish
ritual of homely things, tea cups
a few more and long dark
nights with little wind blowing
through the trees, singing
in the leaves and the
robin whistles on the feeder;
red breast warm
and light frost coating
grass growing slowly
slower in the day of
weak creamy suns.
i look forward
to those deep winter sleeps,
thick duvets and poppy's
thumping tail in the dark morning,
celeste's winter coat,
soft as cashmere and lighter
than her summer blue,
the smell of hay
and damp earth early morning.
(14th September 2014)
YOU ARE READING
Methought
Poetry"Ever drifting down the stream — Lingering in the golden gleam — Life, what is it but a dream?" - Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There
