Midnight Robin by Maureen Weldon

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,
 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