The Fire of Love

In the dark, cold night I sit,
wrapped up in the sole worn down blanket I posses,
watching the flame on my last candle be spurned on by the wind,
blowing through the cracks of my single-room cottage.

In the dark, cold night I sit,
quietly reflecting on the reasons of my current predicament,
cursing my stupidity in not anticipating the longest night of the year,
and subsequently suffering both the cold and boredom.

In the dark, cold night I sit,
remembering my children and the warmth they used to bring,
regretting my husband’s decision to join the army, as now I sit alone and destitute,
ripped away from the warmth only kin can bring.

In the dark, cold night I sit,
turning my chair to admire the snow as it falls down from heaven,
longing for the days of providence and fortune, wistful about the laughter and wealth
we once shared with our fellow countrymen.

In the dark, cold night I sit,
embracing myself as the candle rapidly melts into extinction,
reminding myself of the hardships I have been spared, of the blessing that resides
in the roof over my head, and the fortune of still having my life.

In the dark, cold night I sit,
slowly drifting off at the peaceful sight of falling snow,
warmed by the memories of days long gone,
reassured by the knowledge of a better future yet to come.


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