The eaves listening, dressed against December wind search whistles and fallen bow, evidence of coming promise. Childish and child like, the seed burrows deep into Earth meant for prosperity to mount crop of amber grains, timber and starlit evening.

Mourning the youth of stronger minds. Copper tinted majesty, lost the rose-silk swell of dreams yet laid to rest. Where hearts and kindled fire lay in wait for those wanton souls who would embrace fear, exchanged for everlasting. The wild will never pays the tab.

Leave for morning light’s cache. The untold sweet tooth of life’s pampered moments. Walls breached by cold and truncheon plowed. Treasured boxes and chest full of metal’s rare, compare sunlight to darkened pitch. Left stories untold, never having rightly considered.

Tree wells in solace of moonless abandon. Pines and dented tin giving love and life where men has seldom reasoned. What crops born in the milky light? Ten million engines fired by the simple living Word. Washed against the helm, deep and rocky shore of time’s reluctance.

What winter wish fills the gloved mittens of woolen resolution? Standing against the threat of death to remark briefly on the souls of light. Steel and passion’s purse gaining fables in the tablets and rashly gathered journal to storm the parties with word and honey-looted rhetoric.

Echoed cries to shame the fear and sadness. Pockets bare left for better men and childless wives. The reproach and missive spoken against the wiles of darkened thinking. Making pacts with eyes, thoughts and devils men are always hanging on the edge of abandon