Photo by Margaret Bednar
It was a night in late December
when the ice had hold of the river
and every shiver of wind broke trees
like alabaster bones
that a gypsy braved the briar
to reach my hearth, my fire;
and I could not deny her
refuge in my home.
Over coffee, she gave voice
to indigo and noise;
with luck, she and the boys
would set the Hessian on his ear.
Then we let silence find us,
and all that's endless bind us;
closed the door behind us -
Georgie Washington slept here.
For Margaret's prompt at Real Toads (I used the word list). Also submitted to Poetry Pantry.