The forms we trust
The blooming orange light paints the waxcoat draped on the chair, white worn of the black dye
The forms we trust
Warm hugging through the day the unassuming clothes of the causally employed
How I feel aches like elmwood embers lone glowing in the cast cathedral of the firebox
The forms we trust
Mumble soft what you mean, clearing the cluttered table after a meal unbought
How I feel aches like elmwood embers lone glowing in the cast cathedral of the firebox
The light hardly sifts through the flapping sheets of grey rain
Mumble soft what you mean, clearing the cluttered table after a meal unbought
Elm burns no hotter, no better, but the embers stretch cat eyed orange longer, to wit
The light hardly sifts through the flapping sheets of grey rain
The returner, his waxcoat dampening and boots thrushed by mud, can enter and throw white dry wood to warm the outer dark
Elm burns no hotter, no better, but the embers stretch cat eyed orange longer, to wit
That dreams, ember dormant, might light such
The returner, his waxcoat dampening and boots thrushed by mud can enter and throw white dry wood to warm the outer dark
And, exuviated of his casual work clothes, chrysalis by the fire
The blooming orange light paints the waxcoat draped on the chair, white worn of the black dye