As we come ever closer to the Christmas holidays, we’ll be taking a short break, but we wanted to say thank you before we hid under the bed with our binoculars, waiting to catch Santa out with some very strange amateur SAS-style manoeuvres.

Researching Reform is able to breathe thanks to its readers and commenters. Without your interest and support it would not have the heartbeat it has, and so we would like to say a very big and hearty thank you to everyone who has read, commented or supported the blog and its projects, whether that was reading an article, writing a thought below a post, sharing our content through social media or attending our events in the House of Commons. You define us.

There have been some wonderful moments, too. People have shared content with us to post on the blog, often cutting-edge and hot-off-the-press content, which has fascinated us and we hope our readers also, and between them our posters recently managed to pen 114 comments in only five days on a post about shared parenting laws. We welcome new posters as well as old ones; it is always lovely to observe loyal posters making the blog colourful and unique and being taken aback in the nicest way possible when people and organisations we write about, come over to the blog and say hi.

We’ve added one of our favourite poems from one of our very favourite poets below, which we’ve linked up to lots of music; it’s our way of saying thank you, Merry Christmas and of course……. Happy New Year! May 2013 bring you health, happiness and lots of laughter.

With warmest wishes and fuzzy love,

Researching Reform….

Hart Crane

              Sunday Morning Apples

                                            To William Sommer

The leaves will fall again sometime and fill
‘The fleece of nature with those purposes
That are your rich and faithful strength of line.

But now there are challenges to spring
In that ripe nude with head
reared
Into a realm of swords, her purple shadow
Bursting on the winter of the world
From whiteness that cries defiance to the snow.

A boy runs with a dog before the sun, straddling
Spontaneities that form their independent orbits,
Their own perennials of light
In the valley where you live
(called Brandywine).

I have seen the apples there that toss you secrets,-
Beloved apples of seasonable madness
That feed your inquiries with aerial wine.

Put them beside a pitcher with a knife,
And poise them full and ready for explosion-
The apples, Bill, the apples!

1927