An adage for Jilly’s dverse prompt.
There is something I have learned
from winter nights,
when frost crisps the grass
and creeps across the bedroom floor,
when the stove is ash and the moon is cold,
stars strike no sparks,
and brittle ice forms on the water in the well,
(the one warm place
on this small patch of earth,
nights of frost and crystal clear,
is a fortress built of wool and duck feather quilt
until you yank it)
that one good turn
takes all the blanket.