The season to be merry;
ivy bursts it’s vigorous
way through the dragon-cloud hedge,
holly and mistletoe conspicuously
absent. White cyclamen peer
through the fallen red leavings
now cinnamon shades of spiced
mulled wine. Astonishing green
profusion heralds muscari
blue, tossed and tangled in winter
whirlwinds while stouter sleepers
poke thumbs of red and greenish
through the frozen crust, unconvinced
by still-dark days to add promises
of more; of colours and textures,
glories of sight and scents, yet
clamouring in the wings of hope.