Spent so long in the cold outside,
I forgot what the heart hearth holds.
A dark weaving wind
whispered it's dreams to me
and I seemed to flee.
But still,
the wandering wynding
way came out before me
as if made to be by walking;
as though no path exists
until it is walked,
like the electron is a wave
until I wave hello.
But somehow,
this black metal stove,
radiating from a chamber,
burning on the inside,
is and always is,
was and always was.
But for the cold dark wynding way,
I'd never know it's warmth.
A place I could never come
until the darkness took me.
