On the first day of the fifteenth year
I saw seagulls riding a strong cold wind
Blowing in grey from over the grey sea
Hasn’t been a bad winter so far
A few frosts but the soil was warm enough in sheltered
places,
for bulbs to begin sprouting.
But I had enough sprouts last year to last this year
And the seagulls are now shouting
As they wheel screaming above me
Perhaps they can see what’s coming,
But I cannot, and my speculations keeping getting grim and
grimmer.
So I just hope that tomorrow I will see
That a winter sun burning low in the sky
On its road over this globe,
Will bathe pedestrians trudging, with loaded bags and
shopping trolleys
In warm red gold light
And turn them all into angels.
