in the bleak midwinter
watched
by the rich guarded
silence
of cotswold
farms
and a blinding sun
through bare trees
and the jagged saw
of a dog at the gate
i wonder
what my pilgrimage
to an indian summer
a half world distant
taught me
about this track
of unchanging england
wrapped up in compliments,
temporary as tinsel,
a feast that goes cold,
a santa that never
really delivers
as i slide
down my frozen hill
of ignorance
on slight city shoes
made in ahmednagar
towards a painful
wisdom
cranham, glos. dec 24 1994
Like Mocks, this is coming out in my new book at the end of March 2006. I hope all my readers have a blissfully happy and contented Christmas but if not, take solace in this throughly typical Western materialistic money-rich time-poor post-Christian let down. Give me Hardy's The Oxen any time...
