Somethings On The Move

She wore a black tiara

rare gems upon her fingers

and she came from distant waters

where Northern Lights explode

to celebrate the dawning

of the new wastes of winter

gathering royal momentum,

on the icy road.

With chill mists swirling

like petticoats in motion

sighted on horizons

for ten thousand years

the lady of the ice sounds

a deathly distant rumble

to Titanic-breaking children lost

in melting crystal tears.

Capturing black pieces

in a glass-fronted museum

the white queen rolls

on the chessboard of the dawn

squeezing through the valleys

pausing briefly in the corries

the Ice-Mother mates

and a new age is born.

Driving all before her

un-stoppable, un-straining

her cold creaking mass

follows reindeer down.

Thin spreading fingers seek

to embrace the sill-warm bundles

that huddle on the doorsteps

of a white London town.

Oh, sunshine - take me now away from here

I'm a needle on a spiral in a groove

And the turntable spins

as the last waltz begins

And the weather-man says

something's on the move.