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Winter Sunday afternoons

Winter Sunday afternoons

I pick up twigs and sticks

of ash and oak    also willow

from field, garden and outgrown hedgerow

that autumn gales

have torn from the trees’ tangled tresses.


I am blessed by this necessity,

this primeval labour,

this fundamental harvest,

twice warming the body,

kindling the spirit,

distant from the clutch of money,

the claptrap diatribe of politician,

the television’s siren blether.


Yes, I am blessed

by this need for fire

that draws me out into haunt of heron,

the fox’s clandestine domain,

the snipe’s hunting grounds,

where frost-bitten air stings skin clean

under the one embracing sky.

©David Urwin 2018

First published in PENfro Poets 2013. Eds. Peter George & Brenda Squires. Menter Rhosygilwen, 2013.

David Urwin is a founder member of PENfro Poets. Some of his poetry appears on his poetry blog, He regularly reads his work live at local venues. He is the MC for The Cellar Bards, a monthly spoken word event in Cardigan.