In the
depths of my house I sit,
Draw in the
trials of the day
And build a
fire.
Sunk deep in
my chair
Draw
conclusions on some matter,
And tend a
fire.
Steep
ramparts above hold high
This lone
man looks to them then down
To my fire.
And think on
the day,
Parse out
special things and hold them close,
Things made
pure with fire.
If only to
stay warm.
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