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The thing is that I’ve always known
These February days when sky
Loses its lustre like a fish’s eye.
These days! I can still see
My mother white-faced in a chair
Carried through white snow to the doctor’s car…
What I first saw was grey
Or mezzotint, perhaps, but you
Set off with colours, green and red and blue
Out in the garden under trees
Loose clothes aflutter in the breeze:
An August baby greets the world at ease
And that is why the sun shines through
Your optimistic take on who,
and what on earth the world is coming to –
And sometimes why you need to use
A smudge of February haze
To mitigate the keenness of your gaze.