A Million Fingers Of... ❄️
To one who looks heavenly,
To the white sky.
Tobogganing in his minds eye.
Whilst the flakes drift on
But not settle at all
The worst of them are those that come at night.
But by the morning’s rain
Only disappointments remain.
The deep desire to see all four climes
Without venturing to the tops of mountains
As distant as those North of London
And to not want to be bypassed
By the year’s savagery
To feel that sting of a well thrown
Soft and slushy
Wet and sticky
Well you know what I mean
That want to grind us to a halt
Our old country that in our novels
Immortalised the white Yule.
A Dickensian time of happy poverty
When now our cars sputter
And struggle to climb.
When now our newspapers headline,
The frozen homeless,
Our elderly neighbours all alone.
And when we can safely
Disdain from our work.
But snow too, is great in a fight.
It tends to blanche all misdemeanours
And for one day, make us forget
The everyday drudge that is, this life.