Before the Fire’s Lit.

The room is comfortless, reproving and austere
The piles of things in random heaps of uselessness,
And the smell of greasiness, 
Remove the vestiges, the thin veneer
Of civilized domestication.
Shining silver, Cuban mahogany,
Lack all they signify, when warmth and cheer
Replace the dreariness and dignify chaotic existence
With that quality, let's call it homeliness,
for which there is no explanation.
Human messiness and mental weariness =
January afternoon without a fire.