By the Fireside


By the Fireside…

I long to sit and write poems
Warmed by a crackling fire

I long to share
With fellow poets, writers, and artists

Drinking wine
Listening to their readings-


I have no fireside,
And poets live far away

The chores pile up
I cook, wash, and sweep

Though using a pen when I can
I need not worry-

Life is a poem, composing
What we have no time to in ink

There is poetry that is poetry
Merely written in words

And there is poetry
Expressed in the patterns we live

Embracing the life and work
We’ve been given

Verse offerings made
In the rhythms of sacrifice

Michele Marie

6 thoughts on “By the Fireside

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