It hasn’t rained for days
the last band of misty cloud
fled East whimpering –
blotting out the sun in an
afternoon of doubt before
the cold invades
it seeps out of ruthless blue
promising nothing; a barren
landscape chilled with icy air
and silence clear as the soundless
beat of bird-wings seeking trees
touched by the last rays
of a defeated sun
ears burn in a rare
dissonance of blood-heat
stolen in benign larceny
wisps of woodsmoke
gently dissipate from a flue
which heats our home –
radiating into nothing
three months, you say,
three months and it
will be Summer again...
© 19 July 2007, I.D. Carswell
the last band of misty cloud
fled East whimpering –
blotting out the sun in an
afternoon of doubt before
the cold invades
it seeps out of ruthless blue
promising nothing; a barren
landscape chilled with icy air
and silence clear as the soundless
beat of bird-wings seeking trees
touched by the last rays
of a defeated sun
ears burn in a rare
dissonance of blood-heat
stolen in benign larceny
wisps of woodsmoke
gently dissipate from a flue
which heats our home –
radiating into nothing
three months, you say,
three months and it
will be Summer again...
© 19 July 2007, I.D. Carswell
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