Two Miles Of Thoughts

A solitary walk along the River path with autumn's Damp golden and russet leaves cushioning each Step, watching the cold River pass, eager to embrace November's cold open sea. The garden centre is only A couple of miles a way Where this Christmas Tinsel hangs with a sleepy Monotonous languor for Someone to show interest In todays squeeze on wallets And purses. I haven't had a Christmas tree For a decade or more, not Wanting to buy a once living Sapling cut down in its youth, Or a plastic one that would Damage a tired fractured Earth when it finds a new home In landfill. My two metre tall yuca plant will Gladly be dressed in tinsel for The occasion, now nearly two Decades old and still growing. Like most people, it doesn't Understand the true meaning Of Christmas being a pot plant. Yet I believe it has more brains Than some who celebrate this Festive occasion by over spending And over wanting everything they Can see, can't see, or who bought That they didn't think about five Minutes before they saw it. Thinking of someone special And wanting to get closer, hoping That I can get there and back Without the heavens opening up And thinking of the time I used to Walk Clara, my yellow Labrador, Along this gentle winding path That also leads to a nearby lake.