seasonal sonnet 1

At any end it's about Durance
And title - tho' calling a spade
A shovel near Xmas
Gets lost without party
Some years end in yellow
Some in smoky cumulus
This day is a slender Green
You can almost see the brush strokes

So holding on, like 'holding the man'
Is hard
But we are not men!
Which leaves us Outside, our arms
Lifting the minutes of the Rest
And holding our own green

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