On a grey day

Before Christmas

I look out at

The sky.

Ballooned clouds scudding,

Edged with light,

At moments sail



The misted sun -

White winter moon

Moving towards afternoon


Some sign, perhaps.

Some symbol.

The longest night

Is past.

And Christmas

Is a forecast

Of spring.

So this Advent waiting

Is almost done.

My poems will peer

Up through the future -

Paper flowers

Set out for everyone.

And I shall wonder

Why I worried

Lest they never

Come to bloom.