Wintry wind
Slashing sleet
In your face,
Spiteful,
Like blackthorn in the hedgerow,
Sharp
Against your skin.
And then sun,
Shining sickly,
Barely warm
Until you reach
The shelter
Of fieldside bushes.
Clouds disappearing,
A grey blanket-like sky
Covering the sun
– Until it re-appears,
Finding blue spaces
And glittering,
Like blackthorn blossom,
In puddles of rain water.
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