Two boys walk down toward a house
in the valley. The chimney smokes.
Their hands are filled with pebbles
and snow. When the wind kicks up,
you can see their eyes filling with cold,
their faces pale as clouds that dim
the winter sky. What news do they bring
from headlands above the roaring sea?
Kettle shrieks on the stove, steam and heat
and baking smells of sugar, flour, yeast.
When darkness moans at window ice
will they sit down like pleasant lads
to take the burning liquid on their tongues,
or will rough boots dissolve the floor to dust?
you have any comments on this poem, Steve Klepetar
would be pleased to hear from you.