Light the Lamp Early

WIDE flocks of narrow birds have fled
The glaze of frost-embittered air.
On burrows where the woodchucks sleep
The curled and colored leaves are deep.
The worm winds in the fallen pear.
The ewe that bore the lamb lies dead.

Light the lamp early. Billow breath
Festoons with fog the chilly pane.
Ladder the lighted hearth with logs,
That, as dreams ruffle sleeping dogs,
Warmth in this room may help maintain
This precious life, this twitch in death.