Our old wood stoves crackles softly
There’s more in the hearing of it, you see.
All tied up in the thought of some gleaning
My nieces back yard of a fallen tree’s leaning.
She brought the massive logs during summer sun,
Her boyfriend’s truck weighted with lifting, no fun.
There was a bit of a glare for us in his eye,
While he kicked the heavy things with foot and thigh.
Off to the edge of our drive on the west,
Where they rested in arranged design for best
After the logs were reduced to smaller lengths
My niece truly loves us, me thinks.
The warmth is spread evenly through the room,
During this winter storm, to get us through ‘til June.