Wednesday, 10 January 2018

A mist this dawn

The morning sun is waltzing
with a gloaming mist this dawn,
lost somewhere 
between winter and spring,
and now, and now

I see a cobweb, 
golden in the breath of God, 
with the blue sky and the mist
as through a revolving door,
lamplight, brass - lamplight, brass,
upon a hedge that’s steaming, 
surely I must be dreaming? 
This cannot be summer,
and alas no, it’s just
a January joke.

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