I need air after the News at Ten even before Big Ben’s
tenth hiatus so at the front door I’m stilled
quietened by frozen leaf’s twirling and candlelight

Our fox pads by across snow covered sloping
lawn and in the moonlight I hear silent music
better poetry between the lines calmed brainstorm
in the final waited-for thrum of the singing bowl

And thinking of a perfumed rose unfolding sets news in a
wider context – I see the Spring that will surely follow
these winter nights and

how the butterfly will flutter by and the lizard’s tongue
will flick to catch its joy with the absolute accuracy of
the laser

SRM