Poetry 'n Prose

Mulled Wine

In the dead of the night
I hear the wind, blowing down
the smell of burning soot
in the chimney breast,
inside our home –
here is a heart shrine,
there is a sacredness in everyone
allowing biology’s voice
an awareness:
to the complexities of human life,
and an over indulgence
in mulled wine.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

6 replies on “Mulled Wine”

Many thanks wisejourneys, hope you’re having a good holiday, I wish you a creative new year – just read the latest post on your blog, it made me smile!:)

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