Home, sick with the winter that
Is trying to **** me being held at bay
By a fire in the corner hearth.

I’m safe as long as it lasts,
So I stir it, and feed it, and draw
Out the fire’s life as if it were my own.

But there is only so much one can do.
In the end they say even the stars will burn out
Overcome by the cold, endless dark.

But that means nothing now, there is only
This fire I have been given to guard
And appreciate.

I wish I had always been so wise.