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Poems by Bob Beveridge
Winter Mornings


Sleepily I pull back the curtains on a dark winters morning, mystified at what I may find
 
A clear crisp frosty morning? A fine powder of snow dusted over the ground? or a drizly, drab rain           soaked day?
 
I come down stairs and there lies Belle, like comfy Kate, curled up on the couch, cushions suitably arranged around her.
 
The dog bed abandoned in its corner in the kitchen!
 
Slowly she decides to join me as I wait for her at the front door
 
Out we step into the damp misty woods and then in a flash off she goes, rounding up imaginary sheep.
Sniffing here, scraping there, dragging branches out of the undergrowth, as the smell of fresh pine fills the air.
 
Slowly the drizzle begins to run down my jacket and of the end of my nose
 
Squelching home we dump the lead, jacket and boots at the door
A quick rub with a towel and she makes for another favourite spot
I know where she is! before the smell of damp dog roasting at a fire reaches my nostrils
 
I sit beside her in the old armchair mug of coffee in one hand and hot buttered toast in the other, feet on the stool
 
We relax for ten minutes before the rest of the house wakes
 
I love our winter mornings!!
 
 
Bob frae Bannockburn.

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