While we sang old songs

(in an oriental manner)

One of us felt the evening chill
so our hostess kindly drew
the drapes closed and banked
their skirts to the window sill.
Host stoked the fire
as we sipped mulled wine.

In a musical lull –
and with popular approval –
lamps were traded
for candlight’s glow.

So close we friends
all seem – and yet
I somehow must have
fallen asleep to dream –
awakening beneath my coat,
on the fireside sofa.

Snow had covered the lawn
and trees in the night.




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