Una hora menos

  December Sunday It’s a dark December Sunday The rain splatters windows With drops forming patterns That bring some magic to the road outside.  It’s a time for feeding dogs Then heading back to bed Feeling no guilt at all But keeping warm instead.  Banished the days on sunny beaches When we caught a second summer  In warmer climes just four hours away Now we huddle up beneath the covers.  The company of a library book To the background sound of radio While the raindrops paint the windows Looking on a misty urban road.  We turn a page and look As a gust buffets our comfy home Bright with Christmas tree and white lights While families shudder in cold Ukraine.  Child of Kyiv and Prague Listen to our prayers  Bring strength to all good souls These wet and windy Christmas hours.

  If I   If I were to die tonight What words are left unsaid? If I leave tomorrow What gifts remain ungiven? Have I died surrounded and  Suffocated by numerous things? If gifted another year Where should my footsteps wander? What should I see again? With whom would I most regret To miss that final chat? I look back upon three years When friends were robbed of me No longer here, no longer seen Taken by surprise before their time Before I had a chance to wave goodbye.  The clock is running down The sand is flowing out Never to return without reprise.  Still perhaps a year or more To turn a leaf or two?