As a child I remember cold afternoons sat in front of the open fire with me nan, probably eating an orange and watching a Llanelli back-line dismantle another of the home nations.
I may have moved on to the less beautiful but more functional wood-burning stove but it remains the perfect complement to hibernation.
"In the little dark engine room,
Where the chill seeps in your soul,
How we huddled round that little pot stove
That burns oily rags and coal."
(A Brucie bonus to anyone that gets that one...)
.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment