Winter Solstice

Chasing sleep, I tread
the boards. A sickle moon
shreds the clouds...
bleeds liquid silver
over valley and fields.

The night passes slowly...
darkness, offers respite
only to the flowers; pansy
and morning glories, yet none
for me, as hidden in a log-pile,
a badger sleeps.

This year is dying – let us
welcome in the next. Light
candles until the dawn;
burn beseeching bonfires
to swallow up the darkness.

Days will start to lengthen
and, of an evening,
I shall sit in the lee
of the stately Scots Pine –

watch a sprinkling of stars
fall through its blue-green
arms...to the other side
of the sky.