The house with the little yellow door

Oh,

I had the words.

The ones for Christmas.
About Christmas.

Then  the ones about
New Year.

You know,
all that stuff
about a new page and so on.

As ever,
life decided to throw a bottle of ink
all over them.

I looked January full in the face
and listened again
for music in the storm blown trees.

Watched for the gold spun winter sun
that hangs low over the fields.

We marked our lives with little cups of coffee
and tea
as the globe twirled madly on.

What strange creatures we are

dancing into this new year

and driving past

the house,

with the little yellow door.