Polly

Writings and Witterings

New Year’s Eve

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Every New Year’s eve
We stand at the top of the lane,
We see and hear
The glittering City fireworks,
No scent of cordite mars or jars;
Sweet bright light
Sky lanterns
Swaying through the night.

This year no breath of snow
Whispers past,
No frost tweaks
At extremities,
The ceiling of the faithful City
Celebrates time.
We stand at the top of the lane
Sipping scented spiced hot wine.

Polly Robinson © 2012

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