How I love sun’s shortest stay, its cosy winter solstice,
For the year and all that's gone before, it proves a welcome poultice.
A time consumed by devouring dark, gone summer’s all seeing light,
Retreat from outstretched longest days, to the hug of late year night.

Where thought can be from quiet corralled, soft lit and safe indoors,
Whilst wind and rain and sleet and snow, run wild across the moors.
And the prospect of shy sunrise is still yet many hours away,
So night remains good company, until replaced by half-light day.