He's chopping
wood gathering
kindling for
the morning fire
He's piling on
an arm full
of sticks and
brittle bits
from dead trees
He's bending
over lighting
warmth for
the house
now he sits
watching it
gather into
bright red flame
Each one burning
in his mind
each one a
reminder of
tree trunk days
when loneliness
was only a word
You ought to see
It it's something
like you've
never seen before
Something you will
always remember
I did...