Twig the Grounds – Sonnet

The flames have dwindled down to logy coal.
Ay, my roaring stove has been exhausted.
It kindled warmth, with passion sang its soul;
then in frigid darkness – somehow lost it.
Hours ago, the hottest I remember,
I felt it toast my face and proof my core.
Now it crumbles cold to crusted ember,
and long is night to go on empty store.
I try to stoke it, feed the famished fire,
but every piece I pile only smothers.
The birch, the oak, and all that I desire
overwhelms the remnants like the others.
It seems the only hope to stave its death
is twig the grounds that glow and give them breath.

Stalking a Stag- Alexandrine

I hiked deep into woods | while breaking virgin snow.

I saw some tracks pass through | they appeared to be fresh.

The hooves of a large stag| wandered into the brush

So I veered from my path | curious where they’d go.

They meandered around oaks | and no hurry was had,

but then I saw the tracks | suddenly had more space.

I guessed the deer had heard | my presence in his place

and so by leaps and bounds | the buck jumped from his pad.

Hoping to catch a glimpse, | quietly I pressed on.

I would peer through the trees | as I reached a hill’s crest,

but all I’d see was tracks; | he’d left me in his dust

for every time I’d look | he was already gone.

I knew not where I was, | though lost and on a roam;

I seemed to know this place. | I had seen it before.

Then looking up the hill, | I saw the roof next door.

Though I never found the deer,| I’m glad he brought me home.