Light dances on walls like ballerinas pirouettes,
and shadows stretch to accommodate
the flames alive in hearths of stone,
and nestled in plush reading chairs
souls all wrapped in winter robes,
lost in stories long ago told,
read deep into the night.
Crackling wood and rising cinders commend,
the fire’s treat, its sober warmth arisen fine,
to keep the inside dry and bind
that room in oaken fragrance;
and by the hearth a hound all limp,
dreams inspired and toasted he,
in blissful sighs and snorts.
While winters frost on pane does crust,
the outside chill so far removed,
and streets deserted of human signs,
fall to winter’s scowl;
minds inside are truly lost
to worded dreams and sunny posts,
away from winter’s harsh reproach.
And ruby port in crystal glass
imbibes the glimmering firelight,
and sipped to warm from inside out,
a cozy bead of fire to bleach the day that’s been,
while words of flight waft in and out
of minds approaching slumber,
warm and safe by fireside delight.
Tony DeLorger © 2017
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