Poetry
Back From Town
Tom Lazer
Staring at the fire, as a log falls silently.
I scratch my chin, stretching slowly.
Running my fingers through my hair,
I watch the shadows grow longer where,
New fallen snow is reflecting moonlight, on the windowsill.
I hear you faintly whispering, tiny sounds of sleep;
As the wind blows harder still.
Hound dog sleeps,
By the warmth of the fire.
This is the evening,
of the morning;
I came back from town.
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