The Old Log Fire

The old log fire crackles and pops.
Its red embers glowing light up your face.
A strumming guitar, plays softly and yet loudly.
Lulling those who hear it to join its melody.
Long ago the sun did set, leaving only a memory of its beauty.
Stars have come out to play and the ashes dance around the moon.

The air is still and the sand grows slowly cold as we huddle closer.
Warming ourselves by the once large flames.
Even though the music has stopped sweet laughter fills the quiet.
Long is the night yet the dawn will still come too quickly.
Delicate smiles are all that pass our lips now.
Yet they speak more than a thousand words.

By Pete Scopes