Funeral on the 23rd of December.
The hard ground
and the soft snow
cracked and caressed the shuffling feet
Whilst this winter chilled us all above and below.
A few heavy laden folk turn up too slowly
With the noise of xmas disrespectfully ringing in their ears.
What a day for dust.
A day negated by eve,
lived only through some hurried stuff and nae work.
The bells and the holly aren’t even for him,
But for a cross Pinnochio, who,
condescends to this place.
With this man,
I lie white cold,
Like a thoughtless gift in a decorative box.