I reminisce the days of old

when nature spoke things, crisp and cold. . .

And frost meant magic to the lake,

whose ice was thick and bold.

It's nice around the hearth.

When oft' the sound of sleigh bells rang,

the barnyard smithy's hammer clang,

And sounds of winter's music sang. . .

Around the fire's hearth

I reach back through the mist-like fog,

to romp again, that childhood bog,

And touch the fur, of my. . ."yeller dog". . .

Still, 'tis nice around the hearth.

Time melts into a seasoned moon,

and shares the haunting of a loon,

and life goes home. . .all to soon.

Oh yes. . .

'Twas nice, around the hearth.

          (c) Priscilla Wyatt