by Kerry Hammerton
Winter is moving away, lifting
its sombre face, turning towards
the North, hungry for the bite
of snow and dark days,
hungry for gloves and long coats,
for skiing and snowball fights.
Winter is tired of this dreary
Southern winter, tired of cloudy skies
and grey rain, tired of cold houses
and unsuitable footwear.
Winter is weary of storms
thrashing against beaches,
weary of wind, of floods,
of creeping salt-filled fog.