Morning has become a tardy arrival

These days of cold mid winter

The night sky holds its Stygian pall

Avariciously stalling the suns cue to enter 

The house is warm this chilled and desiccated morn

I chosen old incandescent lamps over LED

To cast a golden glow harsh blue light forsworn

The fire is true the logs are real the embers red

I revel in the light and warmth of yesteryear 

Snug within my elder home free of modernity

For I find more consolation in the past and fear

For this the current age of virtual conformity