The First Few Fires

The first few fires of autumn laid by me Here in this stove aren't much; I acknowledge Even the hummingbird's still caressing blooms, so I Feeling only a brief dawn chill, build accordingly.

In thickets of summer I range about, Ratcheting my long-handled pruner among stout sticks, Stealing from oak and ash, letting in a little light. These I pile in the long room where that stove squats.

Fueling it with paper and a stack of twigs, admiring Even the least hints of gold and vermillion therein, We sit back, warm enough for one dark cup of tea. For awhile; then day overtakes us, ready

In sweater and chore coat to see to hens; Really, we shuck those soon enough, sweat on our Ears and eyelids, summer reborn briefly in our knees. So; until the ground grows cold that will hold our graves.