A Sheltering Light at Ironwood
The sun sets leaping in fierce golden shafts
As days shift shorter with Winter’s warning
We seek emblazoned fires from the chilled drafts
That glaze windows from iced winds each morning
As twilight falls stale dead leaves swirl rifting
Barbed smells of Pine and Tannin Oak scent streams
From forest floor fumes in brisk air hinting
Drab pumpkin, peach and tawny spiced Fall dreams
Sit quietly, watch dusk’s seasonal show
November’s clouds spangled in etched fire stun
When a portrait clad in sheathed splendor flows
A palette of Fall woods under brazed sun
That bring us grand tidings of this season
Where peace reigns and war has little reason
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