Snow white

The barricade of epitaphs and frosted trees
made certain sound did not dare enter
and the bold whispers which did penetrate
found their fate
in the snow
below which lay the dead.

---

The city, which I (only last week) thought so uninspiring in the days between Autumn and Spring, has had all its blemishes and flaws swept under the carpet in the course of 24 hours. Aided by gusts of cold, Vodka-swigging wind from Russia, London has transformed into the beautiful city it was intended to be. Here's hoping for more cold fronts from Russia the benevolent.

Sonnet I: These words in my head

Monosyllables plant their little selves,
In the convoluted folds of my mind,
Wherein they are nurtured by sights and smells,
That the body had met in space and time,
With certainty they grow and multiply,
Consuming conscious thought and overwhelming,
They linger through darkness's grip on the sky,
To warm the soul with the kindest of kindlings,
These words within the confines of my head,
Ripen with the scents of life and death,
Eager they are to be printed and read,
They seek emancipation with great stealth,
But I perceive their treacherous plot,
In my mind they shall stay - like it or not!

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Hark, the season of sharing and giving (and receiving), friends and family, and homebaked treats has finally arrived. Don't you just love it?

Have a very Merry Christmas.