This Year
When the basket scrapes the tops of trees
And knocks over chimney stacks
It is riddance of weight that ultimately frees
The grip of gravity, it turns its back
And walks towards dawn’s bright crack
As earthbound pummels the sand and sack
When the billowed head rises up
Free from bond and freed from grips
It offers a raised toast cup
To sky and dawn it offers some sips
As upwards through thick air it slips
Whilst end-shift bats dodge and clips
And as the hot air rises
And up and up it goes
The sight of it surprises
As early morning traffic slows
To have a glimpse of the balloon that shows
That this year, up and up it goes!
This Year
16 January 2015
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