In from the cold

Wispy clouds veiled the Cluan Tier
As the waning moon, sank low in the sky.
Winter frost lay thick on the grass,
Chilling those who were passing by.

Inside the kitchen was cosy, and warm
With its occupants drawn to the fire,
Enjoying the warmth, and the cosy glow
In the time before they retire.

Rustling was heard outside the room
And Syd moved quietly, to open the door.
He knew what was visiting that winter’s night
For his guest had been there before.

Golden brush tailed possum


A magnificent possum with golden fur
Settled upon the hearth,
It knew it was welcoming, warm and dry
So once more had trodden this path

Syd lay down with his ‘brushie’ friend,
Then placed his cheek on its fur.
Together they basked in the warmth of the fire,
As neither was wanting to stir.


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