by Jim Moore
All day these pieces have been waiting their turn--
The oak, the maple, the birch,
It's a fire they want--a hearth of coals
Engaging enough for a grainy walnut, a hearty beech,
A place to warm old bones
And the coal-black of iron--
That dusty-red glow
That settles in the womb of a flickering star,
Chasing the polar night away.
Posted on 10/31/2007
Copyright © 2019 Jim Moore
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by George Hoerner on 10/31/07 at 05:13 PM|
This is excellent! Short but it captures the mood that wood must have as it watches its' turn to join the fire. Nicely done!
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 03/11/08 at 04:41 PM|
Pretty amazing what you capture here from simple pieces of wood waiting their turn to "That dusty-red glow
That settles in the womb of a flickering star,". That line elevates this above the ordinary.