By the fireside her hubby waits,
Every night in winter, after a hard day’s fate.
During the all-favorite season with its temper chills,
She watched him dozed in and out of fatiguing after-work ills.
The reddish-orange fire danced, hummed, dazzled,
Her eyes, her mood, and she felt somewhat puzzled.
Bored between sleep and warmth from the fire as it rises to freedom;
Of weight and floats into the space around a gratifying kingdom;
A simple romance it foretells of them,
A life, a kind of way for her and her devout friend.
This hollow makes her sad and kind of uneasy,
In the silent colonial high ceiling room fit for a family.
By the fire, caressed sparsley by the warmth and carpeted ground,
She watched him slumped unconsciously on sturdy mahogany chair in a knitted frown.
Snoring at a tempo; deep and hard, in a world for only him,
She reluctantly partake night after night; swallowing this gin.
So by and by the winter’s long and dreary days,
And peaceful fireside nights of delicate crackling sounds she gazed,
Into silence, deprived of sweet, soulful companionship;
A little chatter or laughter or a flavorful sip,
Of the festivities, and excitement outside her door;
A heart lonely of cheer and drifted, wants this deafening silence and quiet no more.
In a room with walls adorned with flamboyant memories of what was them,
Now at a distant; an epic tale of a one time fame.
A grand love story from a by-gone age,
Out-dated, almost forgotten, at a stagnant stage.
Oh, enough of this fireside and raging winter blue.
This night while hubby sleeps, I’m going out-doors, to join the crew.
COMICSPREE 