Submitted by Ann Neilson
The Winter day is steadily declining,
and a hushed, blanketed mist gently descends
upon thatched roofs, languidly spreading
its dreary web o’er the wearisome heads,
returning from hard day’s labour.
A forgiving hearth reconciles debt and dismay,
and beckons, with sensuous snapping, to stay.
Ice-crystal branches peck and prod, and beg, too,
to escape the chill, whilst sharp winds blowing,
moaning, warn of the oncoming storm.
The house settles, the fire dims,
and an unsolicited chill crawls down our lungs,
extinguishing warmth, enwrapping our bones,
callously coating with hoary frost—
A log is placed, the fire’s ablaze,
and unbidden thoughts are ceased,
cast to the wind,
and warmth perpetuates the soul once more.
Photo Credit: Figure on the Bridge Ladislav Mednyánszky