Queen Anne's Lace

Gauzy veil of a wild crop in winter,

Faint and dry as the lightest crunch of snow

Stepping out in faith, land of the hinter

Spiralling cobweb elegant as bow.

How snow falls far softer outside the church,

The only touch of colour in the group

A robin so red watching from his perch,

His breast as a dash of tomato soup.

The frost spreads out its stiff wedding pattern

Glistening guidance down on towpath mile

Lock gates now standing fast from bow to stern,

Their summer story halted for a while.

Now to the wood-smoke, the fire to provide

Orange and warming, always by her side.