Early one morning

Early one morning in December

Walking on a hill near the Wye at Chepstow

It’s cold and the grass is hard with frost,

And the tired moon,

Still beautiful after a long night out,

Removes her make-up.

The pale old sun, not well at all,

Pushes back the blankets

And reluctantly comes out,

Yes, with his hat on,

And his scarf and gloves as well,

And, with a sigh,

Forces himself to go through the motions.

The crows caw loudly in the tops of the tall oaks

And inform the world that they too are starting

On the business of the day.

The cows begin to browse on grass

They could not see just half an hour before.

The puddles hard with ice like panes of glass,

Lie in the grateful field

That now can drink no more.

The traffic sounds a distant throb

As the headlights climb the veins

To and from the heart of the little town,

Where street lamps light the early risers

On their cold way to work.

The old people in the home,

At home no longer,

Begin to think about the day

That they will spend inside.

The school stirs as the bells wake the young sleepers

To their routine governed by bells.

Shops unlock and offices are lit

As computers sort themselves out for the tasks ahead.

And the working day shakes itself

And gets itself into the right frame of mind.

The moon, still bright,

Takes one last look,

Then draws the clouds,

And sleeps the short day through.

Copyright 2012