I live, for the winter in a converted mill on the upper floor. A wonderful old structure full of yesteryears dust, memories and exposed wooden beams.

My Winter Lair

Down the iron outside stairs
Pierced in early Victorian style
The orange brick wall of my winter lair
Weathered but still worth its while

My winter loft an ancient mill
Itís top floor now a wondrous home
Where busyness was now all is still
No grinding grain no whirling stone

It has been repurposed now you see
To accept less energetic tenants now
A place to live in tranquility
A hermitís cell amidst the snow

Poetry by josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 273 times
Written on 2019-02-25 at 16:23

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
You are so good at describing the character of the places you are. We all need a winter lair. Even though the word has a beastly feeling to it. Winter lair , summer prey, lol.

Thomas DeFreitas The PoetBay support member heart!
Excellent! The second stanza especially attracts. The four-beat eight-syllable line seems to suit you, here as in your poem on Frost! Bravo from this address.

Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!