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Six brick high corner. Six brick long. My Angel built it herself. I built the fire. Dead wood. Carted and chopped; by axe; by hand. Short logs, long logs, Burning logs. Something about fire. Transfix, hypnotize; trance time.
Flames dance in their own time, To their own music. Smoke pirouettes from a hollow log And you are captured. Oh, Drambuie night, Keep us warm. Keep us above the outside world. Warm us on this cold winter's eve. Loosen our tongues and our bodies And let us rejoice in our minds. James W. Barnes June 30, 2012