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To: Bear_in_RoseBear
I sit beside the fire and think
of all that I have seen,
of meadow-flowers and butterflies
in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
in autumns that there were,
with morning mist and silver sun
and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think
of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things
that I have never seen:
in every wood in every spring
there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think
of people long ago,
and people who will see a world
that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think
of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
and voices at the door.
30,161 posted on 10/03/2002 7:53:19 PM PDT by HairOfTheDog
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To: HairOfTheDog
Thank you for posting that! It's a rather sad and thoughtful piece, I think... and every time I read it I have to imagine the author sitting beside his fire, thinking... and writing that poem.
30,167 posted on 10/03/2002 8:02:56 PM PDT by Bear_in_RoseBear
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