I swear there’s nights
When I squat by my fire
I can almost hear
That heavenly choir.
All the host of angels
Look down at my camp
Chase away chills
And dry up the damp.
It’s those times I know
How lucky I am
And it gentles my soul
Like a little ewe lamb.
If you figure you could use
A course in the divine
Settle into a night prairie
And you'll get a new bottom line.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Nights By My Fire
Posted by The Dashboard Poet at Monday, January 04, 2016
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1 comments:
Beautiful, James. I just wrote in my email how I do love a real fire. Staring into that fire is about as primal as anything we do as humans. How many generations back did our ancestors do the same?
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