The Hearth, Again
A few more sods on the sleepy fire
The blue smoke mood to ponder
A glass to lip, the substitute kiss
The wine, westward, wanders
A second verse, an echo ode
The blue turf voice reciting
The embracing mist, again amiss
Voice, weeping, writing
The third I know, the echo too
A lonely flame ascending
The purple scarf, mute to grey
The scent of love amending
Quatrain full, the sonnet poised
Ending lines frustrate me
I dread awake, the dampened turf
The hearth, assorted debris
As in a bridge, new to cross
The elusive shore does find you
The madness of the portrait eye
The sadness of a drifting hue
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