Alchemisland

Winter fades like Vicar blacks hardwater washed to washy grey

Spring yet evades, day 28 of hatefully punctual rain

A painful time to be a drain

That Spring in my step you promised post didn’t show as yet

I made a poor Christmas host; overdoped, low fuel, oppressively looming

Christbirth eve night, whichever corner’s least illumined

By the dark-ruining light of our jewel-freighted Yuletree

In the other room, the real humans jigging like iceberg-eve night

For one day and one day only, our feuding adjourned

I made a big show of pouring twice the measure of each vessel, what a jerk

In the finest fettle, thinking time measureless, suddenly interned in an urn

In grim seedstrewn soil much toiled over, which worms turn

Praying the sun will boil over before the Son returns.