Wood
The storm gathered and the wind howled
Clouds were dark and ominous hinting of rain
He loved the rain and the wind
The branches swayed to their rhythm
He gathered sticks for the fire and the cold
The lights flickered as thunder cracked
There was nothing like a warm fire
And the limbs doing the cha cha
The fire wood was stacked by the door
He was a deepened romantic and the fire
He loved her most under the covers
He loved to show her his wood
She loved when he put it in the fire
That was what he missed most
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2012
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