Lentils
Through windows obscured by evening’s frost
I watch the gray ending of another day.
The trees have become their naked shadows;
all the bird are long flown away.
Lentils slowly cook in the kitchen,
with garlic and onions and green herbs.
Their fragrance fills my empty house;
there is none here to share them.
They will warm my body this night
but my heart is filled only with winter.
Stephen Brooke ©2024
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