Embers Of Worlds
Late at night and the fire burns low
In the embers are worlds lost in swirling snow
In the pitch of black on a white pillow
Case of lace in vines entwined retrace the time
Appears to race off to parts unknown
Will it return to your window
When the days have spent in foam and sand
Like the lost repent a losing hand
Spreads fingers lit like embers slow
Late at night hands you do not know
Hand you embers of worlds lost in swirling snow . . .
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2014-04-01 at 11:44
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