By the Fireside. Poem No. 2.

Suddenly the skies are southern blue;
The dismal days are over, those sombre hours
We met under a permanent cloud
In smoke filled lounges
To scry the future in fading embers.

The sun has cracked the shell of winter,
And like the Phoenix soaring out of ashes
We drop two magic feathers in the lap
Of the purblind newborn year.
The crib should now be out of bounds to witches.

We throw our party hats upon the fire
Then snuggle up together on the sofa.
Last year I saw your face etched in the wood smoke;
Tonight you dropped your passport in the shredder;
It seems this house is world enough for you.


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
25th. January 2014. - 8th. February 2018.
This poem should be read in conjunction with By the Fireside Poem No.1.