Winter Letter 1939
The foxglove Summer has tripped away
I am farmed out far from home
Alone, with strange tongues
Winter slips quietly into
The far corner of my comfort
While the Mouse size room sleeps
Night has stolen days short hours
Pulling at the rare white light
It tip toes past in a dust stream
Cold glass holed, and damp cardboard
Subdue the pin-pointed reflections of me
And darkness has side stepped itself
Slowly daylight drips itself into
Watery, blurred, sleep filled eyes and
A jig-sawed dawn arrives in pieces
Blue chilled noses appear from itchy blankets
From Winter pressing heavy down
Frosted Jack the Cat slips on grey slate
Frozen breath particles float upward
The shy Sun, mixes stiff scary shadows
Cold toes string like pegs too the floor
Ah, smell hot tea, drifting in a saucer
It snakes up bendy in the stairwell
Its heady scent sweet too the senses
Yawning and hot, a pot black Stove
The thin day slides in under the front door
A letter arrives, accompanied by voices carrying tears.
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