Stalmine Christmas
Christmas morning with daylight dawning,
the milkman going from house to house,
We sit alone with time to gaze at the
frosty haze just inches from the ground.
A motionless picture painted on grey,
with skeletal trees and bales of hay,
some have sides drizzled with snow,
others are stuck in the mud below.
We can see the church two furlongs away.
A colourless scene; that pervading grey,
the mock Norman steeple; no folk around
just hopeful birds who prod the ground.
Forget the carols and rasping bands,
the hands we hold for Auld Lang Syne.
I like the quiet those scenes convey,
with thoughts of you on Christmas day.