The fire
within the grate
crackles and spits like an old hag
I jump with each gnarled log
exploding
wood splinters pierce flesh
emptiness invading time
unread books curled
corners
stretching cobwebs
coffee cups stale
spill onto news days old
cats curl on crinkled throws
stretching limbs too tardy to
chase cheeky crows and
lazy lizards.
I see a lone seagull
looking for her mate
the beach is deserted
I shut the door
on a freezing desolate
night
the fire goes out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem