Winter Letter 1939

The foxglove Summer has tripped away I am farmed out far from home Alone, with strange tongues Winter slips quietly into The far corner of my comfort While the Mouse size room sleeps Night has stolen days short hours Pulling at the rare white light It tip toes past in a dust stream Cold glass holed, and damp cardboard Subdue the pin-pointed reflections of me And darkness has side stepped itself Slowly daylight drips itself into Watery, blurred, sleep filled eyes and A jig-sawed dawn arrives in pieces Blue chilled noses appear from itchy blankets From Winter pressing heavy down Frosted Jack the Cat slips on grey slate Frozen breath particles float upward The shy Sun, mixes stiff scary shadows Cold toes string like pegs too the floor Ah, smell hot tea, drifting in a saucer It snakes up bendy in the stairwell Its heady scent sweet too the senses Yawning and hot, a pot black Stove The thin day slides in under the front door A letter arrives, accompanied by voices carrying tears.