The night fire embers low at five
The sun's passion still hours away
The rooms are cold save near the hearth
The chair with pillowed warmth my place

The lamp turned low the night before
The wick now risen to morning's height
casts a buttery yellow glow
To light my paper and pen to write

The morning's logs are smoking now
Embraced by lazy flames 
On the cusp of yielding needed warmth
As last night's dark and chilling wanes

The night's cares move to their alloted space
Leaving room for simpler thoughts
I rest assured that today's intrigues
Will be less complex than yesterday's knots