Monday, 1 December 2008


The bulbs snuggle under the first frost
Warm beneath a frozen blanket
Of winter rime and icy earth
The first cold turned to insulation
Against the winter’s harsher thrusts

The tiny furred things feel this touch
And know the warning that it brings
They seek the safety of some borrowed
Warmth, stolen in the hidden parts
Of houses. As safe as buried bulbs, ‘til spring.

1 comment:

trickylittleimp said...

lovely - calm and evocative, Stu.