The poem January was published in Frogmore some years ago.
January
This is the long long day of
silent winter.
No splashes in the pond.
No butterfly dusting white
roses.
No children.
It is not cold.
I am cold.
Dreams are sparse trees
in this skeletal landscape
of the longest night of
silent winter.
If only
the sound of your fingers
striking a match under my
skin
against the coming pain
of the longest day of silent
winter.Julie Sampson
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