Years Turning Poem by Paul Brookes

October has squeezed the juice of Autumn
saddened dry dusty leaves shifted shapes
trailing whispers across broken streets in mournful flourishes cackling likeold men's voices
the skies though blue speak of tooth chattering cold
brilliant though the sun it give no comfort
white thin clouds scurry like scratches sail silent

December is cruel but January is crueller
for she promises much but is stark
trumpeting in the New Year with caustic wit
with fireworks and clanging bells, a raucous birth,
the world turns to warmer days

in January the garden lies barren in Winter sleep
just the first flushes of green of the bulbs
anticipating their turn to shine in Spring
but we still have the grey torpid days of February
before life and sap return.