The sweet cottage snuggled deep
in a lethargic treeline, strange as it sounds.
The smoke from the chimney curled lazily in the evening sky.
The fireflies not yet visible slept deep in the wildflower
clumps just waiting to zoom about in the dark night
but now they slumbered, unaware of the hot porridge
made, the bottle of sweet syrup close by, the stocking feet
resting on a knotted rag rug, made from the masks