As I wrote, I shaped the lamp into a lantern.
The beam narrowed and lit the page bright.
The cat jumped up and walked across the words,
it had been enjoying the lamp and its ambient light.
As I wrote, she came and turned the lanterns eye,
she too enjoyed the lanterns gentle glow.
And colder was the room by one degree
when the lamp was shone upon a single thought alone.
As I wrote, the words formed the story that will come,
the beam cuts through distraction like a living knife,
the lamps focussed beam lights the way ahead,
lights the dedication of my life.
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2016