Christmas Eve on Hilbre Island

Evening descends,
the tide’s coming in,
sealing off Hilbre
from the mainland.

We’ve a picnic hamper,
a thermos of coffee,
Christmas pud thick
with raisins and rum sauce.

Snow settles in the grass,
melts on the tide; above,
on the observation tower,
a kestrel eats a vole.

“Good King Wenceslas” drifts
on the wind, interspersed
with the bark of seals.