Our first frost this winter was late:
Stealing every colour,
long after Christmas:
Ageing-nature Santa-silver,
but too tardily for the kids’
seasonal wonder.

Cursed instead
by unreadied gardeners,
caught sleeping,
as the mild-winter dipped
back into its old ways:

When The Thames was locked;
under a hard-beauty for weeks,
and even the huddled fires,
could not melt
that frost.

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