John J McCarrick
1 min readNov 28, 2020

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“Old Warmth.”

By

John J McCarrick

Crowded cobblestones lie beneath my feet,

Across by night to the wood shed I creep.

Cold is the night sky and so are the stones,

Wood to keep fireside warm for my bones.

Sit by fire no lights needed to see,

Embers that glow like lumps of debris.

Crackling and spitting all the fresh wood,

Until a trickle of sweat feels ever so good.

Eyes reflecting the growing heat shimmer,

Feet moving in an excited dance as I simmer,

Happy toes curling longish and short,

Heart beating rapidly playing its part.

Time for bed but reluctant to leave,

Fire will dim if I’m not there to see.

Sadly, I climb the stairs using matches,

Hop into bed before that freezing cold catches.

Roll up and snuggle knees drawn up so tight,

Eyes still remembering the deep fireside light.

Off into dreams some new and some old,

Morning will come so had better be bold.

Day will then meet us all cold and dark grey,

Stoke up the firebox for another full day.

Soon it is smoking and becoming red hot,

I’m not going out but staying here in my spot.

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John J McCarrick

Retired, who writes stories for both children and adults.