Today’s daft WP question is ‘Do you ever see wild animals?’ I’m imagining a Philomena Cunk voice. If you don’t know her incisive style of interviewing have a look at this. But put your coffee cup down first.
And this is today’s poem for day 8 of Paul Brookes’ December challenge.
Winter creeps through tree boughs,
with wind-fingers plucks loosened leaves,
tosses them in irrelevant showers.
Gold rains, turning,
giving up the ghost, settling
in layers upon oak mast.
It needs a squirrel
to order the mess,
to brush away the curling debris,
to spiral along the boughs,
panache swirling russet-red,
in a frenzy of cleaning.
Winter is never spick and span,
until the frost grips in a frozen frame
and beneath the guardian trees,
acorns, nested in leaf mould,
dream their small dreams of greatness.