Logs On the Fire

Holiday Poems


Glow comes from inside the wood,

bits of blue flick from the soul of the pulp,

orange is trapped sun needing to get

free, gold is just gold when the logs

are on the fire.


Warmth runs along the facial skin

and makes the mouth smile and in

the thought pattern, a memory

circles one cold winter when frozen

fingertips and noses thawed to 

logs on the fire.






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