adventures in dysthymia

Monday, April 25, 2016

Firewood, a poem

Firewood

The tree of knowledge came down
in last night’s storm. Now I
must get out the chain saw,
cutting good and evil

into manageable lengths
of firewood. Will you
sit before that blaze
with me? It might burn

as brightly as the angel
guarding the gates of Eden.

Stephen Brooke ©2016

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