Walking back to the cabin
Arms filled with timber
Stepping in deep snow
And with steamy breath

Onto the porch
Shake the snowfall
Off both shoulders
Then through the door

Into a comfortable room
With dances of light
As he kneels to the fire
And places the wood inside

Standing up after
And rubs his hands
Presenting his palms
To flames charity

Turning back
To the table
With a cup of coffee
And pen and paper

Sitting down
To his joyful work
As he leans forward
And cradles the pen

He thinks back
When there was company
Of a lady fair
And moments of joy

For that was living
During hibernation
And the nothing
That builds outside

But the inside
Is where all fires
Are kept steady
And burning rightly

Even if the times
Are lonely and cold
It is inside
That all memories roar