25 November 2012
The cold cuts to bone, warmth flees from the day, the winter months close in, skies of gray.
Into this house I flee, my escape from the cold, the warmth of the fire, more valued than gold.
A strike of a match, such a humble start, just the light of the fire, warms my heart.
The smell of burnt wood, dreams of the past, the rising of the fire, shadows cast.
My fingers I feel again, hands praising the heat, red embers fall to the floor, my loved retreat.
Embers Of Red • Opuss № I