a subtle warmth and lightness hiding bites
of winter's wind that howls with distain,
the hearth and heart of poets' fire ignites.
The words, both inked and spoken breath, are slights
to ice and snow that coats the frozen ground.
The voices of our minds and mouths resound.
To think of all the time progressed and passed
with little light and even less of heat,
the thought of all the bone-chilled months can't last,
erased, destroyed, by hearty meals to eat.
Amongst camaraderie, we take a seat.
This banquet testament to human flame,
despite the weather, flickers all the same.