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Soft winter sun rays
through the spreading of her warmth,
along one’s fine skin of ruby
laid down in bulk,
to alkaline the biting coarseness
rushed through by the wind puck
The leathery faces
of the nearby herdsmen,
breathe in the grit.
Their bodies spelling dry crispness of Zen
Shoes dance a metal jingle
as the men of the bubbling click,
step up the short distance,
to the huge fireplace of brick
Exploding busyness of the flame,
popping and scorching the logs.
Grandfather clock chiming brightly
near the stained glassed door
Homebrew fizzes a doughy foaminess.
The leathery faced herdsmen
guzzle the amber liquid,
with fever like that from cayenne
It’s been a rough, long day,
the silent beauty of the land,
leaves each man feeling
both distant and united jammed.
Early morning start,
bangs and puffs of ash,
door knock its time,
to welcome the land of lullabies pass
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