It was last year. The fog had carpeted fields
in its breath, swamped crowns of trees
and reduced hedgerows to hedges.
Two tractors I saw were glazed in frost.
The streams frozen. Silent. You could feel
a cold earth, hard and solid as steel.
There are times when I accept this darkness, amble
blindly through years beneath a blurred moon
warped upon a night sky without a single star.
So I picture that honeyed glow of home,
like some beacon throbbing in the fog,
a lone wink of candlelight burning against the odds.
I love how beautifully everything is phrased, such vivid imagery!
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Thank you so much Maggy!
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