A Winters Tale
Courtesy of Thurles Author & Poet Tom Ryan ©
I saw a tree; its branches like five gnarled fingers,
Bare, barren, against a sky of austere lead,
And I shivered.
Cold, gaunt the time,
The mist’s on the mountains.
Night shadows fall fast on the day.
The wind moans in the haggard, crying for summer.
And each human’s greeting
More a wheeze, a cough, a sneeze.
The woodshed’s full.
A cat, back to fire,
Glares at secret places round the house,
That warm retreat from winter and from woe.
We clap our hands for warmth.
For comfort grimly eye the sky.
And all in vain,
We sip the tea,
With hearts in one great hurry for the Spring.END
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co Tipperary.
NICE ONE, TOM