Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
The year is waste.
Each venture outside is met with a snub,
a door closed,
the only resort is home and licking wounds.
Winter has arrived,
metaphoric snow piles high all around
and I’m checking cupboards for food.
I grab a biscuit, put on the fire
and watch the wind rattle roofs,
sitting tight until signs of spring appear
copyright Francis Barker 2019
