Tom Roberts


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Best Poem of Tom Roberts

Buried Beneath The Snow

They kicked me out on Christmas Eve,
I lay buried beneath the snow,
The dogs were biting at my hands,
Hacking them blow by blow,

The moon was rising above rooftops,
The trees were whispering ghosts,
There was light coming through the window,
The window of my previous hosts,

The street was unforgiving,
The lamps had all burnt out,
The old tramps were off to the shelter,
For turkey and Brussels sprouts,

The children were running their sleds no longer,
Down banks of crystal white,
For they had all departed to their own front ...

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