What a perfect creation
Are the
snowflakes
Beauty and
geometry
Each
precisely fashioned
They float
to earth
Filling the
air
Like cotton
in a mill shed
Haphazardly
drifting
Individual
and unique
The
crystals fall
Like pieces
in an Impossipuzzle
To make a
perfect picture
The six o’clock alarm
Breaks my
slumber
I swat at
the clock
Like an
unwelcome bug
A single
gesture brings silence
And I lie
in the quiet hush
Silence!
Why is it silent?
Where is
the traffic noise?
The
clinking milk float?
The boy
racers?
The early
morning bussle?
I leap from
my bed
And rush to
the window
I pause for
a moment
Hold my
breath in anticipation
Then pull
back the curtain
And what a
sight to behold
Snow! Snow!
Snow!
As far as
the eye could see
A vista of
pure virgin white
The whole
scene cloaked
In a deep
shroud of snow
Shapes rose
up here and there
From the
thick carpet
Disguising
what lay below
I search
the scene for signs of life
And found
none
The snow
was fresh and unsullied
Just lying
there, waiting
I turned
and dragged the duvet
Off my
sleeping wife
And
responded to her protests
Saying “Snow!
Snow! Snow!”
Half an
hour later
We were
fully dressed
And on the
way out of the door
Thirty
seconds we were back
We had
forgotten to wake the children
The gulls
screech and scream
Swooping above the cliff top
While white horses ride the waves below
As the tidal surge is broken to a stop
Fishing boats appear to dance
Driven by weather to the south
And make slow progress in the swell
Bobbing towards the yawning harbour mouth
As the weather quickly closes in
The gulls desert the cliff top
Making their way inland to safety
Waiting patiently for the storm to stop
Like a ribbon that's spun
Of the purest of silk,
The road crossed the cold bleak dale
It appeared that the frost
On the wintry panes
Was embossed with images from beyond the pale
And the winter-sky,
Lit with the moon and the stars,
Made the icicles glow in the night-
And the beauty of all
Of that December view
Was perceived in the essence of light-
And deceived by the soft...firelight.
If December ice will bear a duck
Thereafter will be
slush and muck
But grab the duck off
the ice
And Christmas lunch be
very nice
It’s such a mild Christmas
All the birds are
singing noisily
Normally in December
They’re all frozen to
a tree
Honeysuckle hedges
Line the fence
Banks of Purple
columbine
Catch the morning sun
Beds of scented roses
Beside a manicured
lawn
Herbaceous borders
trimmed
By neat rows of
annuals
Clematis climbs the
trellis
Amidst the well
groomed shrubbery
There’s so much more
Than stocks and
hollyhocks
In an English country
garden
