January’s weak, unlikely wind, sneers
and growling back at yuletide’s indulgent frivolity,
scowls again, to usher brusquely in
the new year’s hopes, desires and fears.
And in that dour and clammy chill, Janus
with his ancient tethered clanking key,
hesitates, unsure which die to cast,
then scatters fortunes with ne’er a blink
© Graham Sherwood
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