Poet of the River
Hands of time (thought)
The candle lit, the fire ablaze.
on the table i sit, counting the days.
as time expands, and days grow colder,
the chill of hands, as the bones grow older.
the simple desire, to warm to your fill.
the warmth of the fire, to bite back the chill.
smile and savor, the warming chance.
hands waver, as the flames dance.
and winter becomes spring again.
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