The Fire of Your Fingertips
I will not take this warmth for granted
as I behold the fire
of your fingertips,
woodwinds of your voice
carried by soft breezes —
tomorrow holds a sheet of white:
leafless branches
in the wintry blizzard winds,
little do I know
if you will be beside me still —
I will not take this warmth for granted
as I behold the fire
of your fingertips.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Stux@pixabay
lilies, sparrows and grass 
Beautiful love poem! Hard to balance taking for granted and the terror of loss. This is what I feel as I read your poem. 🙏🏽
Thank you Ellen! Yes past experiences of loved ones lost compels one to treasure each moment with loved ones still alive. 🙏 🩷