Tuesday, 6 September 2011
Clothed in winter whites,
The garden sleeps beneath
The pale under-belly of the
Curled, crinkled leaves freckle the ground
As shadows from the skeletal canopies
Criss-cross the lawn.
But for one dichotomous ruby rose
Lolling rudely by the five bar gate,
And gloating at the tepid hues.
White silence in the garden,
Although tiny prints betray the mystery
Of a bird’s dawn visit.
Its footsteps in the snow, disappearing
On the ice-polished pond.
And still the snowman keeps guard,
As soft, slow, silent snow falls,
Frilling grass and lacing trees.
The hedgehog stays furled and warm
Beneath the hawthorn’s rotting leaves,
Whilst a bird sits sulking on a frost-fringed fence.
Sombre trees stretch skyward,
Entreating the reluctant rays for some warmth
From behind the steel-grey clouds.
And underfoot, iced diamonds glint,
A constellation of a million tiny twinkles
Wrap the garden in festive trimmings,
To be unwrapped by the coming thaw.