January Poem

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How raw the edges of your sigh

How blue your roving tune

Where dusk is always standing by

To drink the afternoon

How frigid is your brooding gaze

How feeble is your sun

A labyrinth of silver glaze

Dazzles your tempest, hon

How stormy are your promises

How lonesome is your song

The offspring of your happiness

Ice-cold upon the tongue

How welcoming your blazing hearth

How fine its company

How sanguine your sweet-spiraled mirth

Above a cup of tea

How long and slow the books you bring

How soft and deep the chair

How easy is the beckoning

Of one-more-page affair

How lovely is your stinging name

How pleasant is your poem

For January stokes the flame

That brings our loved ones home

© Janet Martin

There's no place like home on cold winter nights!