Here’s an old poem of mine from Counting Rain.
no-one died suddenly
except on the kitchen table in Operation,
except in Cluedo – Miss Scarlet, in the ballroom,
with a rope. And no-one cried uncontrollably
except with laughter. And no-one counted
the seconds on the moon-faced clock
except to wonder what morning would hold.
That Christmas the fireplace outshone the sun,
the tree-lights were Jupiter, Cassiopeia, the Plough,
and our lives were streets of inviolate snow.