I drive beside the moribund silver birch
Sullied by diesel fumes and dirty weather
Yet the November light is not without light
Indeed the blue skies reflect the sparseness
There is a calm to the morning, also to my mind
Yet, by the time I reach the Inn of choice
The Christmas lunches are in full volume flow
I order a pot of tea with sticky toffee pudding
Which arrives in a large bowl swimming with sauce
Heaven knows the sugar content; which would not
Please my partner, or my daughter, or my doctor
Fortunately my son would say enjoy yourself dad
You deserve it
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