A Wintry Night
Flames lick at the glowing wood, sending warmth into the room,
Where curtains cover windows, shutting out the winter’s gloom.
Someone’s sitting in a chair that’s beside an open fire,
Sipping from a steaming mug, in their winter night attire.
Icy winds rattle latches, and whistle ’round draughty doors,
Sending chilly tentacles into darkened corridors.
Hail raps on window panes, misty showers come and go,
And bouts of angry thunder shake the house where lights still glow.
Someone’s dozed off in their chair, snoring rather noisily,
Draped in a woolly blanket, lost in dreams of life at sea.
The fire’s slowly dying, soon the temperature will fall,
Stirring the old sleepyhead, who, into his bed will crawl.
Kitty’s curled up on the floor in a fury little ball,
Catching all the heat she can, for there’ll soon be none at all.
Her backs turned to the fire, where just dying embers glow,
And inside the house she’ll stay, until outside she must go.
An ancient grandfather clock stares out from its lofty view,
Standing guard inside the room, at the ready, to chime on cue.
The hands on the old clock’s face reveal that midnight is near,
And as soon as midnight comes, its loud chimes will fill the air.
There are mice in the kitchen nibbling at a piece of cheese,
While kitty’s soundly sleeping, dreaming of these mice she’ll tease.
But right now, they’re enjoying all the cheese that they can eat,
Listening most intently for the sound of paws or feet.
When those midnight chimes ring out, old sleepyhead will awake,
And also little kitty who will stretch and a walk take.
Sleepyhead will make his way to the old four poster bed,
And shortly, little kitty, no doubt smugly and well fed.
By Lance Landall
