Uncover the Chilling Secret Hidden Within Stan Morrison’s Winter’s Tale
Isn’t it curious how winter’s chill often sneaks in whispers of what once was—softly yet insistently? This piece, *winter’s tale*, cozies us up beneath layers of blankets—not just the physical kind, but those spun from memory and lingering love. Marge, a name that clings like the fading warmth of a fireplace long since dimmed, reminds me that some fires don’t blaze forever but smolder in quiet contentment. Can we really recapture those “eternal furnaces” of days past, or do we merely tend the embers, holding close what remains? There’s a bittersweet tenderness here that feels like a whispered conversation with the frost itself… the winter of our content, indeed. Curious? Dive in and feel the frostbite and the flame all at once.
winter’s tale
three four blankets to keep warm
not the eternal furnace of long ago
remembrance flows through my veins
Marge graced all the years with me
hold her close rekindle the same fire
forever is the winter of our content
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