Still life of a winter evening

Note the room, framed in firelight And shadow. The brick hearth, White cloth rug, two comfortable cups For holding tea. Do not overlook The books, one thick, one worn and thin, Placed casually as if about to be Opened in the middle where A tired eye left off. Observe The lamp, a dim golden glow Seeping through the silk shade Into a yellow pool around the chair. Do not neglect the quiet rattle Of windows battling wind, the hiss and Chatter of the fire. Dull pewter Mugging and plating its way across The mantel, brass andirons brazening It out below. Sniff the cedar scent, Study the pictures in the pulsing coals. Sit beside me, touch my hand, smile: Forever we have been caught intact Gazing happily from this poem.

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