By David De Jong

One room cabin guarding the meadow,
Just past the giant sequoia isle.
Its chimney whispers to the shadows,
While the moon approves with shimmered smile.
Lamp on the mantle, fire in the stove,
Effervescent glow of belonging;
Deep within this timber’s sacred cove.

Roughhewn rails, corral the porch’s deck,
Harboring old, bent, hickory chairs.
Front path disappears into a fleck,
Granite slabs clime up, like back-porch stairs.
Humble luxury, inviting peace.
Silhouette anthems stir through the night;
Tranquility, longing never cease.

New sun embraces horizon’s ledge,
Atoning mist, ceremonial air,
Lightly dance, over the eagle’s edge,
Feathered song breaks silence, everywhere.
The cabin rests, still, soaking it in;
Life at the dawn of creation’s day,
Finding purpose and fitting right in.

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