Sitting on a wooden bench staring as flames lick damp boards. Listening as the crackling of the fire puts us all to sleep. Sipping hot chocolate and eating s'mores. Watching the pictures dance in the flames. Falling into deep trances as the crackling turns to narration for the dancing images. The crickets then begin their background music to our new depiction. Mezmorizing Campfire.
(August 31,2008)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem