Show of Hands

There was frost on the windscreen again this evening;

an uncommon chill that tugged at the fingers, singing

some ominous melody, blown from the East, they said.

The forecast was not good, the cause already dead.

But you could wake up tomorrow and make a difference:

when the bars hold tight together, chaos follows; then

sweep away old systems, send a front across the country

and, come the next morning, we might, at hand, have some

mid-winter sunshine for once. There’s no such thing

as bad weather, they say, just poor choice of clothing.

Categorised in: Article

This post was written by Simon Cockle