Still
We awake to whiteness,
standing still to take it in,
like nothing will ever move again.
A few footprints in the snow,
silent records of an earlier day.
You say this is how it should be,
our minds lost in books, our dreams,
stretching out in listless days
and long nights. I yawn down
the stairs to click on the kettle,
soothed before a misting window
by the straight-falling flakes.
© copyright David Francis Barker 2011
First published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’ available at:
*If you are having a Christmas break, have a peaceful one
** Many thanks to all of those who have read or commented on this blog. I am very grateful.
