[Written at work today, while waiting for Microsoft Word to stop crashing and let Reed actually do some, funnily enough, work, and after a morning completely wasted on Christmas shopping - Ed.]
No snow, no frost, again this year,
No ice nor sleet nor hail;
The south-west wind brings in the rain,
The rain brings in a gale,And twinkling Santas, reindeer, stars,
Strain against their ropes -
Not dreams of warmth and food and light,
No need for self-same hopes,No dark, no cold, no starving night,
And this not one bright jewel,
No candle held for sun’s return,
No hopes to dash – oh, cruel -
[Methinks she has inhaled hard in the vicinity of Emily Dickinson.]
Or Thomas Hood, surely? A globally warmed No-vember?
Happy Christmas anyway.
*hugs*
B
Rock on. (what I say when I don’t know what to say?)
You want frost?
I was scraping wheens of the stuff off my windscreen this morning.
Thomas Hood! Of course! I knew I knew I was referencing something-or-other.
Care – duly rocking on. Rock on yourself.
Teuchter – ahhh, but the beeb is promising rain and gales and considerably milder weather for Christmas Day. (Incidentally, the fountain at the shopping centre near Library of Glum was still frozen at 2pm today. I have quite enough frost now, thank you).
[...] On comparing this poem to the nameless one about Christmas in the previous entry, I note that am clearly Mistress Grouchy-Pants these days. [Heigh ho]. [...]