January, bleak and dark,
The coldest of them all;
Your mantel is a cloak of white,
The New Year

It isn't something you can grasp,
It's something that you feel,
Overwhelming, all embracing,
That

Ravaged by time the tree in splendour stands,
Old and gnarled yet still a thing of beauty.
Oh that

A troll has moved into my garden,
He loiters by the old oak tree;
I stare out of the window at

Deep red and luscious,
sweetness with the touch of tongue;
a pomegranate kiss.

Witches on broomsticks are flying tonight,
It’s All Hallows’ Eve and the devil is nigh;
Children