First Sunday in Advent brought
Dusting of snow
Brief glimpse of sunlight, pallid and low
Last blooms of autumn were finally lost
In the wisps of the mist and the
Harsh bite of frost
Male blackbird called softly on shed top
Dark silhouette against gloomy sky
Had already tonsured the fruit from the bushes
His mate jumped and fluttered for that left on the sides
Hard ground criss-crossed by bird tracks and cat prints
Silence cracked by flat echo of crows
Honeysuckle berries, black as mouse eyes
Grimly stared at the white world below.