December, Blinded Window

tree shadow plays on the blinded window
branches blown on the wind
airy world now rippling pond
dappled light clear blue almost nothing
trickling cold from December’s lake
endless fascination
treasure in this minute’s type

(c) A. Hurford / K. H-H (8 December 2018)

the year is dying

bring me fire, wine a dancing throng
pyre piled dead wood high
pruned hard this seasons’s dormant depth
light’s long labour so begun
a twinkle in our eyes
we mark in hope this dark gestation

this poem is continued here

advent

near deepest darkness
years of growth cut back, attacked
not academic
to wonder of light’s rebirth
pray true gleams coming may yet thrive

(c) A. Hurford / K. H-H (2 December 2018)