12 Days of Christmas Offering No.11
I cannot compare thee, Aquarius,
To any lone day: Thy conduct bends
Twixt intrigue and – like winds from a phallus
Fickle – despondence so cold to offend.
Thine eyes, as vague as any direction,
Do wade and wander deep fields of vast sky.
Though once in the earth, thy firm convictions
Grow stead in obstinate stalk, of hubris height.
And under tree, by brook, in play with child,
Absorbed in orbits; political spheres
Or plunged, with fellow sportsmen, into wild
Game, contentment surrounds and all his peers.
The water bearer; with judicious pail.
Verging, always, by water not yet sailed.
it’s a grey and beautiful day