outside the wind howls
and gnaws at the corners
of the old wooden house

inside the fire roars
and eats the trees memories
in hot flickering bites

we sit at the kitchen  table
with mugs of steaming goodness
and chatter about the news

unthinking of those
who cower in windswept corners
cold to the bone,
remembering a forgotten warmth
of heart, soul and body....

the wind  howls,
my heart aches
at my own government's  
stupidity....

and the cold reamain cold
and the homeless numbers grow....
and compassion becomes a useless word
like the mewling of a kitten

I don't complain very often
But I hate being lonely

Our lives are just like books
Filled with numerous chapters
We may not like what’s inside
But turning the page and
Continuing the story
Is the only way to move on

The twilight turns from amethyst
To deep and deeper blue,
The lamp fills with a pale green glow
The trees of the avenue.

The old piano plays an air,
Sedate and slow and gay;
She bends upon the yellow keys,
Her head inclines this way.

Shy thought and grave wide eyes and hands
That wander as they list -- -
The twilight turns to darker blue
With lights of amethyst.