While the sky shimmers like shot silk,
chimneypots a toothy smile,
I count the pots, 1 2 3 4 5.
On my kitchen table, sheets and sheets
of screwed up poems,chimneypots a toothy smile,
I count the pots, 1 2 3 4 5.
On my kitchen table, sheets and sheets
I will flatten them tomorrow
for shopping lists.
While perfumed smells of hyacinths
bring memories of my mother:‘they make lovely Christmas presents’
she would say, as she potted and tended …
The evening moves along
as evenings do…The moon a half golden bracelet.
The sky cluttered with stars.
All is still, no cars, no trains.
And in this stillness,the midnight robin sings.
Maureen Weldon, North Wales, UK
