A Walk in the Garden on Christmas Day
written by: Kim M. Russell
@kim88110
Since autumn, songbirds no longer sing
at dawn or dusk, no serenading.
Exhausted now, the garden is still,
and we must wait for spring and daffodils.
Freshly fallen snow yields beneath our feet,
trees and shrubs stoop low in defeat,
trailing frozen bindweed tinsel from their boughs,
and late flowers bloom as crystal baubles now,
adorned with snowflakes from a recent fall.
There is no colour here at all,
excepting holly berries, red as wine,
and a little green where ivy intertwines.
A swathe of ice along the garden path,
a trip, a fall, an awkward blush – a laugh
takes us back to the safety of the hearth,
mulled wine, mince pies and yuletide mirth.
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