I toil at glass study in the attic,
White gabled ceiling overhead.
Black night beyond the window,
Disease and death possess my thoughts.

Beagle sprawls and whimpers softly,
Dreaming fitfully on lime futon.
Body embraces velveteen pillow,
Soul wanders within fragrant wood.

Light and music my companions,
On Winter Solstice Eve.
Brown leather chair sustains my weight,
While imminent inquiry proctors my distraction.

James Pate