Impromptu

   The February sun
Has dipped beneath a neighbour’s house.
A shadow like a frozen mouse
      Creeps out upon
      The garden lawn
   And Saturday is done.

   The crocus folds its arms

In prayer and hopes the cup will pass.
The moon is green as bottle glass;
      A leper-light
      Invades the night
   And hedgehogs squeak alarms.

   The bacon is all gone,

The ale is sour, the fodder worse,
And misty days are like a curse;
      The frost retreats
      In small defeats
   But damp is in the bone.

    And now the starveling mind

Must whistle in the dark until
A sparrow at the window sill
      Taps at the pane
      Of Spring again
   Where daily it has pined.

   What thoughts against the cold?

I count the many who survived
To light their candles and be shrived,
      But mourn for those
      Who in amaze
   This winter have grown old.

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© February 1980