Verse: Torches

(Inspired by @kambrock)

In winter
there is no snow here
no shimmering shroud
to cover the dull,
dissipated grass
waiting impatiently
for spring to come

there are only
the tiny lights
that blossom and illuminate
the funereal hours
and the houses
cloaked in
the cool canopy
of quiet rural nights

seeing them
I am overcome
with jubilation
the age-old ritual
begins anew

I love to witness
this harvest of lights
they nourish me
with their tacit
incandescent message
of hope