In woollen coats and scarves pulled tight
we make our way into the night.
Our steps are muffled as we go
walking Paddy in the snow.
An eerie haze hangs in the air,
creates a mystic atmosphere. 
Paddy stops, he sniffs the air,
he knows more snow will soon be here.
We wander the deserted street, 
Warm, winter boots encase our feet,
stamping imprints on the ground
with a satisfying squeaking sound.
The Christmas tree stands wide and tall
outside the shop, its branches sprawl,
with festoon lights, brightly bedecked,
they wrench apart to reconnect.
The Christmas tree rocks to and fro
and radiates an Ethereal glow.
Its shadows on the wall convene
a ghostly, shadow puppet scene.
The waning crescent moon revealed
the sky gives forth its frosty yield
It casts its bounty everywhere,
this non forgiving saboteur.
Snow clings fast to Paddy’s coat, 
he clearly wants to loco-mote
We see our world in monochrome
turning away we head for home.

​

Norfolk Mawther