The time comes. We’re late or lost,
Winds and chill fills the air,
‘Tho tired, alertness keeps us aware,
Gusty blowings have us tossed.
A spot of land here to rest,
And, gather fuel for a fire,
Whose warmth is a welcome desire,
Worth the time we do invest.
We stop before a body’s hurt,
To realize the rest to revitalize,
Some were a bit unalert.
Sparkling flames a fine surprise,
Finds warmth dispenses our disconcert,
Gone the feeling we were crosswise.
Francis Conlon is a retired and recovering teacher. For the past 20 years, he has worked as a seasonal river ranger and boat inspector at Yampa River State Park in northwest Colorado. He has published in the local Valley Voice and in Westward Quarterly. He currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.