A wren still hunts in the dry-stone wall
Where Fluffy caught and killed the nesting coal-tit.
I watched three hares in the field this morning,
Loping through the snow, and pitied them.
The Christmas tree is up, and looks well;
Some presents are beneath it, your stocking on a chair.
The Fiat’s driver’s door won’t close properly
And the roads are treacherous,
Yet your mum goes to work each day, and Susi to school;
Poor Aileen is still stuck in Dublin Airport
With her sons; we all look forward to the thaw.
Life goes on, and much remains the same,
Yet everything has changed … light is different;
The air less sustaining and sleep less restorative.
My work’s uninterrupted by songs, rugby talk, lifts;
There is less laughter, the house is quieter.
The stuff of life has lost its flavour –
When you left you took some ingredient with you.
How shall we get it back?