New Year’s eve:
the days have
gone
like Autumn
leaves
fallen, bright
with colour,
or abandoned and
trampled
a muddy carpet of
discarded days.
We choose what we
take
beyond the gate
into another year
bright with
promise.
We choose what grows
on unwritten days
and blooms from
branch and twig.
Surprise birds may
come:
cling and nestle
in our arms
warm with life
and their noisy
chatter,
or leave
in argument, their
detritus -
defecating stains
the sign of trespass.
As the days come,
so the longing of
light
fondles the
chilled gnashing of twigs
into the
passionate embrace
of bud and leaf
and tomorrows
bright with
promise.
Happy New Year every one.
No comments:
Post a Comment