Cold and Wet

One day a poem stood at my doorstep
and I let it come in to get warm and dry
we sat by the fireplace and had a chat

We laughed and shared stories between us,
about yesterday, today, and tomorrow, and
yes, it was delightful to get a chuckle or two.

I picked up my old guitar,
the poem dusted off the ancient fiddle,
and we played sonatas and variations of Bach

Then, we sat down at the kitchen table,
nibbling on sweet delicious corn cobs and
sinking our teeth into succulent roast pheasant.

At last, we filled our wine goblets to the brim
with vintage brandy, and we drank to our hearts content.

A poem does not want to be left alone,
so the next time you see a poem outside your door,
please do me a favor, and let it in.