Still tepid December with your blue skies
your silver sun lights sweetly brush and elms
naked yews hold balls of mistletoe
as if caught in a game of giants.
privet's mean leaves gashed with copper beech
and willows unwilling to let go of spring's leaves
a paler yellow now but underneath
nurses its fallen offspring in a bright circle
jealous of the coming winds.
up the hill and hedgrows red with berries
hollies welcoming Christmas tide
and underneath this darkest bush
a chilly rabbit likess to hide.
L.Ivison 2025 copyright
No comments:
Post a Comment