A warm fire, a cool night; your lips on the tea cup. A savory liquid fills the soul like early morning light.
These years have been dark; despair an old friend. A fortitude beats yet inside – a muse that inspires, a desire to fight.
Fuel given, the fire builds. This tiny house a beacon, its radiance weakening winter’s grasp, a new creature emerges, a heart overcome with delight.
Keep at it, urges the muse. Your work known, your path defined; Cloaked in gold and purpose refined, go now, take hold of what you sought to find.