A New Year poem what I wrote and a gift to my patient Twitter followers, wishing them a very happy ZUZU.
Not in the dry click of new numerals,
appearing in turn
like tumbling dominoes, for all
the Auld Lang Synes and fireworks, lighting
night skies with hope’s elemental writing;
not in the budding of bare branches, limbs
chilled a deep dark winter;
not in the hungry bleat of lambs;
or piercing counterpoint of strutting cocks,
announcing April’s ‘thousand natural shocks’.
The year turns when hearts turn and learn, renewed,
to excavate old hate
and, finding brighter seams, to hew
a fairer future, planted by Love’s hand,
till Truth and Mercy mend the broken land.
Abingdon
31 December 2019
Wealands Bell 