winter – Wordsmith: At The Forge

Winter’s Sufferings

By brian francis

A row of pigeons seen through glass
upon a wire of ragged black.
A dreary day of clouds and wind,
of fallen leaves, and reddened cheeks.
Gray skies threaten their stolid mass.
The chill bites deep and seeks a draft.
Wool and wood will fight, protect
Keeping all cozy and warm.
Crystal windows distort the view.
A row of dots, just barely seen,
huddled closer against the wind,
as though, together, they will withstand.
The crack of mesquite within the stove,
the water steeping Earl Grey.
A bit of cream and sugar too,
a day, alone, to wile away.

Season’s Chill

By brian francis

The stars wonder down upon snowy white hillsides
And trees decorated with a glistening dew
Sounds echo long and are crisp in their sounding
The lights of Christmas cast a colorful hue

The scrunching of snow compacting with each step
The chill of winter advances its war on the world
Bundled in layers our defenses concurring
battle is constant repeated attacks being hurled

Having faith in the wool and the linen encasing us
Going about life’s tasks with a grinding resolve
The bridles, the horses, the bell covered harnesses
A sleigh ride to carol, honoring he who absolves

Copyright © 2020 brian francis

Morning Chill

By brian francis

Seasons pass to fall from summer.
Life grows still and forests slumber.
Reds, Yellows, and browns from green
the passing moments of life, unseen.
Leaves that fall to blanket the ground
Moments lost cannot be found
Fires smolder in the morning’s cold
The scent still lingers pungent bold
Steamed up windows, crystal panes
outside, the chilly country lanes.
Coffee warms a deep-chilled soul.
Crisp, clear is the church bells toll

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