Going for gold.

 
I saw a lone policeman,
one for the I Spy book,
now as rare as hedge sparrows.
 
The beautifully nurse with henna on her hands,
took my blood pressure,
that of a young man,
no shillings from my purse.
 
A solstice fair waits on the green,
the Christmas nativity,
hails the handmaids of December.
 
An end to the slow, fearfull malaise,
and these last nine years of days,
to each according to their needs,
a heron in a bed of reeds.

 
~