18.10.2025

Skeletal fingers of

Winters trees, 

Accusing the sky, 

And bluegrey, side-

Ways slanted light

On felt-cover'd mounds

All painted white

That threat'n to pull me, toward

Hiraeth, to someplace, 

Where weary, my

Soul might rest

And dream of warm light, 

While here in crass brightness, 

I dream only of softness 

Of dimmed, blurred lines

And patient stillness,

The kind that I 

Have only found 

In Deep'st Winter's night.