.8. Our Inglenook Poem by David Threadgold

Irons by the fireside
To rake the dying embers
Our inglenook has seen it all
Through many cold Decembers

The heavy old brass fender
Retaining fallen coals
Trying to reach the carpets edge
Intent on burning holes

A blackened old oak mantle
Hang brasses by the score
To match the heavy oak supports
Where hang so many more

It’s fancy fretwork trivet
A black cast iron metal
Spends half its life swung in the flames
To boil our copper kettle

The roasting spit sits empty
With its hook to hang a pot
Today we don’t roast many pigs
So it’s never used a lot

It’s great for toasting muffins
With our black brass toasting fork
What stories would our old nook tell?
If an inglenook could talk

At Christmas hanging stockings
Draped swags adorned with holly
Its roaring fire will keep us warm
To make our Christmas jolly

And when the parties over
Sat down to read a book
Assured that all have been well warmed
By our trusty inglenook


© 2008 David Threadgold
Rambling Riddles & Rhymes