Hot Water Bottle
We have no tribal name,
quaint and unaccountable,
no curious heirloom
as strange and smooth as a saintís much kissed toe
for this useful household item,
although we would often go
with one, to take the chill
off a cold bed in a cold bedroom.
And now I want to put one
at your feet,
like a faithful dog or friendly gryphon,
although providing neither company nor heat,
and it must be cold,
down there in Norfolk. Mighty cold.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, David Callin would be pleased to hear them.