Bleak mid winter.

With the images and news I am seeing from my homeland of Ireland I am reminded of iambic pentameter! In the convent where I went to school the poem "Winter" was used as a beautiful example of this rhythm of poetry writing. Reading the poem again I cant help but think of the perishing cold that these characters had to fend off with wool and wood. How hard their lives must have been and short their life expectancy.

The double glazing, the gas heating system and my fleece jumper ensure my body heat, and my electric kettle boiled water for my tea this morning. I am grateful.
I woke up, I walked to my kitchen to feed the cat. I am grateful.
My husband walked by and kissed my head, I am grateful.
I see my sister's latest art on Etsy, I am grateful.
I use Skype to call my mother, I am grateful.
And though money may be tight and the winter bleak, I put a prayer out for protection to my angels for my family and for all people experiencing difficult circumstances. I affirm Spirit as our source and sustenance and know that we have much to be grateful for and grace will see us through. 

WINTER.

When icicles hang by the wall
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail
And Tom bears logs into the hall
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp'd and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit;
Tu-whoo, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.
When all aloud the wind doth blow
And coughing drowns the parson's saw
And birds sit brooding in the snow
And Marian's nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl, Tu-whit;
Tu-whoo, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.