At seven this morning
I looked out the window
Snow all a flutter
Lay on neighbours roofs
With More and more leaves
Being tugged from the branches
Green became gold gold became brown
What winter achieves
Who’d want to be a tree
At the roadside
Facing the cold winds
And searing snow
It must be so uncomfortable
Losing one’s cover
Feel the sharp frost
Smother
Not even a crow
Dares venture out
The eaves must be crowded
One has to feel sorry
For the wild friends around
Ensconced in the leafless
Or hiding in old barns
Having to search in the cold
Frosty ground
For food on the roadsides
Cars coming dangerously
Being a wild creature
Really is hard
The afternoons darken
Much sooner we notice
Even my room is cold
For I am an old Bard
My cold weather allowance
Stolen from me
Wearing an overcoat inside you see
That’s what we’ve earned
Working hard all these years
Watching Labour’s freebies
With quite a few tears
Despite the coldness
The pain in my limbs
British Gas charges me
Five hundred pounds
Their bloody directors
Are rolling in wealth
As wild creatures and pensioners
Shiver and groan
That lot are deaf to
Us poor sods on our own.
4000 pensioners
Might just flake out
Be lost to the world
Just embers that fly
They worked all their lives
Paying tax being honest
And now at the back end of life
They must die
Eating or heating
But never competing
They don’t hear a greeting
Just the government bleating
Rex Tyler is a Poet, Campaigner, former owner of an organic shop of 30 years, and Public Speaker living in Berkhamsted, UK.