“What are you doing out there
in the garden? It’s freezing cold
and you’re only wearing your flimsy
nightdress. I know you want to see
the first snowdrops. You’ll catch
your death. The snowdrops can wait.
Come inside or your breasts
Will go blue.
I said, come back inside and warm
yourself by the fire. Then you’ll
turn pink, my lovely pink-breasted woman.”

By Graham Ackroyd