Christmas ambushes these years with all years
something echoing blaze, word catching fire;
though you wanted winter oblivion,
instead stream a white-out, strung on a spire.
Christmas ambushes these tears with all tears
something echoing deep, song singing far;
though you wanted a winter oblivion
a dark lake is stringing macrame stars.
What do you want to do? Oh. Oh who knows?
Is there anything to be done? There is.
There is always something needed in deep.
Well. Never mind. I've plucked the Christmas rose,
and packed the tights with presents. Let it fizz.
Now don't begrudge me so few hours of sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Wintering
PoesíaIt's yet another MajorSeventh. Hop on the big shoulders and look ... Lastest poems are always posted last in my collections. Winter. So, expect sparse gardens, late autumn and wintry countryside, wry philosophy and humour, tenderness towards litt...
