An ode to the fire, for last night’s dverse prompt. We got in too late for me to start into a poem, and besides, I was enjoying the fire.
Returning on a frosty night
To cold grate, colder still the air,
We scatter glitter in our breath,
Shedding cold from every fold
Of coat and sleeve and build a fire.
With voices raised to fill the air
With phantom heat, we watch the blaze,
The light that paints the walls with gold
And leaping scarlet, banishing the cold.
Beyond the shutters tightly closed,
The night frost grips each blade of grass,
And mice curl huddled in their nests
While silent-footed hunger prowls.
But in this space of crackling boughs
And sparks, a nebula of stars,
We stare into the shifting depths,
The fire path our forebears walked,
And see the tales that once they told,
Sung high, before the world was old.