12 Days of Christmas 8

12 Days of Christmas Offering No.8


A blush? How rare! Proceed, defiant stare;
Pluto’s placid mask is again applied,
A seamless clouding of expression where,
Before, revealed a shudder in the tide.

On occasion one espies him under
Stone; a lizard mourning o’er a severed tail,
Consumed by this, an inward turnéd thunder.
Such bitter, inward turning turns him pale.

‘Tis that or this – redeemed and twards the sun
with ardoured focus, stretched and feathered arms;
Once a sting now the risen state of one
Discarded of his self-effacing harms.

Paralleled; the scorpion, the gold tipped bird.
His choosing is the beast within him stirred.

We are climbing out of Winter.