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Friday, 13 January 2012



Alone at night by a glowing log fire.
Bright embers are flickering.
Strange dreams they inspire.

You slump in your armchair.
As you ponder your lot.
The stillness is echoed.
By the chimes of a clock

It’s two in the morning.
Just you and your dog.
Asleep by the fireside.
As you add a new log

A puffing of steam.
Bright yellow flames.
It’s crackling and spiting.
Yellow brightness again.

The shadows are dancing.
Around things short and tall.
Painting strange pictures.
On ceilings and walls

This time is your own.
No dragons to slay.
This solitude you crave for.
Many others invade.

These moments are precious.
You’re own space and time.
A solitude of silence.
Of times which are mine.

Peter Wicks

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