I Sit and Think

 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 never 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.

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