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Winter Sundays
We know each year it comes to us
Darkness, to bright cold winter days
The greens become a golden yellow
Before bareness reveals ageing old oaks
Yet cousins stay that darker luscious green
And brave red berries are to be born again
In time for their festive December displays
Birds, squirrels, foxes and rats still search
To find enough to live in our way
Close enough, but not as our pre...
Sunday 16th December 2018 1:14 pm
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