In the still moment

of winter’s short day

Pale sun over the hills

& hidden valleys

And the russet-brown kestrel

holding the sky firm

against the wind –

We are walking

Your shoelace is broken

& trailing in the mud

& your black coat is raggedy

But you are talking to me

& I am listening

 – sometimes -·

or talking over you –

And your words are precious,

like tiny seeds

that hold all the glorious promise of spring & summer –

holding firm against

the cold wind

that whips our country air

like a knife.

I’ll take them & hoard

them against winter – 

in my heart –

all the riches & the promise of hope

to hold me firm

as the shortest, darkest day passes

& the world is still & quiet – 

words to hold us until tomorrow,

when the days lengthen

& the light & warmth

come back

to our country.

Uley Bury

22.12.16