Last sleep

The muse left long ago

The chills of winter bespoke the air

Simple dew settles early in the short fall eve

And a promise settles less so 

 

Age wearies and tests arthritic joints

These age’ed bones feel every creak

One’s not as young as the stallion no more

 

Born by not so much more than caustic wind

I sit and draw in the briskness

And severer a slither of grass to chew

 

Blurred by expectation sits the horizon

Crowned in golden glories of a sun yet set

Emblazoned on a memory that does not forget

 

Tepid brews of leafed matter infused

Fail to invigorate as once it did

As does each blurry dawn

 

Soon to arrive the night song

Sheathed in a petticoat of black

Unhurried retreat to the warmth of a solus abode

 

Seek refuge of the well worn chair

Sparks n embers crackle when jimmied with prod

Stirring the dance of the flame

 

Well warmed and heavy lids signal the drawing of day

If this was the last time we slept

I have a feeling, thats okay