There is something utterly magical about a frosty morning. The frost clings to the trees and drives away the slushy wet mud that is a trademark of damp winter mornings. At this time of year we know that worse is yet to come. However if it were summer every day we’d long for winter…

The frost hangs from the willow tree,
A sparkling ball-gown for all to see,
Glass like ice on the puddles below,
Quickly inside to central heating we go!

A bowlful of soup with crusty warm bread,
Mug of hot chocolate before going to bed!
Pull up the duvet, banish the chill,
Up with the heating it’s freezing still…
…until you are woken by the alarm clock and forced out into a cold, dark and bleak farmyard to load a lorry. Winter is here!
© Baldock Bard 2014
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