In my past I wrote a lot of bad poetry. Last night I found one poem that I wrote many years ago that's not too bad and seems appropriate for the winter landscape outside my window. Last night we received about three inches of snow so all is beautiful this morning.
Dark gray skies,
bare trees,
howling north wind,
cold frigid breeze.
Snowflakes dancing in the air,
Jack Frost nipping here and there.
Into the woods, down the path I go,
all is quiet except for the crunching sound of snow.
My eyes search for a tree long dead,
so into my fireplace it can be fed,
to give me warmth through the night,
so I may ponder in the light.
A winter's evening is long and dark,
but from the flicker of a spark,
heat will fill my favorite room,
and warm me deep inside.
I stare at the flames burning bright,
glad to be home on such a night.
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