Amid the sudden flurries, shrill
bells toll beneath December cloud.
Martha opens lids, her will
one with the rooks that curse out loud:
*another day on bitter earth
passes over Tinker Hill.*

Reeking of mackerel culled from tins,
she bends for something of true worth,
reaches into a toppled barrel
the moment a miracle begins,
and, off-key, sings a Christmas carol
to celebrate a kitten's birth.