37
DECEMBER A.M.
It's here - the dark morning shiver
the peep behind curtains at
ghostly trees hanging in mist;
Birds waiting on fences, fly to the table
searching for remnants of yesterday's feast.
Time now to bundle into disguises,
fumble with fastenings, fastened in haste,
A promise of breakfast tugs at the conscience
As 'Thought for the Day' drifts up the
staircase.
An intake of breath - ten minutes left!
A voice somewhere pleading — 'Any more tea?'
While a frost covered car screams for
attention.
A sudden thought - where are the keys?
The dogs both need water, the birds must be
fed.
Now I'm late
It's here
Winter again.
MARGARET VERNON