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First Thoughts

A poem about January


Of January wary be!

The fairy on the Christmas tree

Can wave no more her magic wand,

She’s in the loft, she won’t respond.

A cold east wind from Europe blows

But what it augurs no one knows,

It bites the ears and seems to moan

‘We’ll freeze you out. You’re on your own.’


Then, turning to the west, we hear

The Mighty Trump sound loud and clear:

A brash and raucous blast that hails

More vehement storms and violent gales;

This month bodes ill but all’s not lost

The spring might yet unfreeze the frost,

And kinder months are on their way,

There’s always hope, there’s always May!

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