Stillness Poem by Paul Butters

All is still.
No more "Chase" or "Eggheads" from Tuesday.
Everything is shutting down.
The Winter Break is soon upon us.
Our "Festive Season" it is called.

Even Winter is having a rest this year.
Sixty Fahrenheit outside now.
I feel like hibernating ‘til the Spring.
Yet some brave blossoms think the Winter over
Already!
Foolhardy flowers indeed.

Our services are stumbling to a stop
Like a long Bank Holiday.
Sports facilities are shutting their doors.
Cafes shutting soon.

If only this stillness could pervade
Those warring factions
Throughout the world,
All through the year.

Peace to All Men
We say.
Amen to That.