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At Nights Threshold
Where mists of silver robe the pilgrim road, I found a door within the night that sings; Its lintel carved, an omen of abode, And laughter rose as if on unseen wings; There beat a hearth whose coals like roses glowed, And reined-in Time bowed low and rest bestowed. The boards swung wide, a whisper: enter, wait, And candles flamed to music of desire; A gargoyle spout breathed alchemy of late— Soft smoke curled up as if from Cupid’s lyre; Transmuted tears to gold within the fire, And named me brave who dared the inward choir.

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https://jeffreyfreeman.me/blog/at-nights-threshold/

#Poetry & Literature #Freemo