Men and Women. Early one morning.

Early one morning in December while walking on a hill near the Wye at Chepstow

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

As the tired moon,

Still beautiful after a long time out,

Removes her make-up

And remembers her conquests of the night.

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 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 here and there in the 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 the street lamps light the early risers

On their cold way out 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 which is 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,

Draws the clouds across her window,

And then lies down to sleep the short day through.