A couple of days ago I had my 4th (and hopefully final) eye surgery since the end of July. At last all looks good! I am behind in a lot of smallholding tasks as a result but all the essentials are covered.
Today is grey, cold and raining but spirits are not dampened.
The last week of November
Winter darkness slowly begins to lift.
The far line of Scots pines are veiled in mist.
Dawn arrives with a penetrating chill,
On the brink of frost, stagnant, silent, still.
A sullen sky, dull like a pewter shroud
Over the flat, black fields recently ploughed.
The trees have long lost their autumnal blaze,
Their leaves lay limp, flattened by rainy days.
Tranquil ewes cluster around the hay rack,
Some with coloured smudges upon their back.
Beneath the oak cyclamen flower white,
Amidst the gloom a heartfelt fleck of light.
The beaver moon lights up the sky at night,
Portent of a future hopefully bright.
Though November days seem forever bleak,
The season of Advent begins next week.
A lovely poem - did you write it?
ReplyDeleteThank you Ang. Yes I did.
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