Saturday, February 1, 2014

The winter woods

January's nearly at a close,
Hopefully by now,
King Wencerslas's man has gathered enough wood to see him through.
With any luck we'll all see the spring come.

Soon lambs to be born,
Buds to burst,
and the grass to grow.
   This time of year
Farmers sit idle.
"We've nothing wrong with us"
We tell each other over pints.
We're just bored.
Soon spring will come.
Soon we'll have our work to do.
But for now
We wait.

The woods sit idle...
The fields lay fallow,
And rust gathers on the moldboards of our ploughs.

It's no wonder that Christ comes in the middle of winter.
Had he come in July
We would all have been too busy cutting hay to notice.

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