the scant winds of January sneer

feebly through the ashen clouds

of a fading indulgent Yule,

they brusquely scowl at the fragile

procession of the new years’

hopes, wishes, desires and fears

that skitters by, eyes tightly closed,

in this dour and clammy chill,

unsure which die to cast, Janus

tethered to his ancient clanking key

scatters the world’s fortunes

asunder without a blink

© Graham R Sherwood 1/25