Sarah Barr

Writer, poet and teacher

Winter Night

Winter Night

Something wakes us in the small hours
and we’re standing at the window
above the neat beds of snowdrops
watching the shadows
the black on black
of rhododendron laurel pine
waiting until we hear
that unmistakable raw cry
because then we know
the foxes are back.

First published in South poetry magazine issue 23

©
Sarah Barr
2000

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