Song of the Wind

I walk alone on the twilit road, Watching the stars in the ebon sky, Dancing and twinkling in the air, Playing hide-and-seek between the clouds. The familiar scent of the home fire wafts, Beckoning to the traveler, Promising of hearth and cheer, Warming the iciness without. The chill wind whips around, Taunting with its icy blasts, Screaming like some frozen demon, Released from an icicle prison. The icicle lined gables rise ahead, Outlining the glowing windows, Telling of hearth and cheer within, And smoke of the fire wafting about. Yet, before the snow-dusted door, I stop, Listening to the song within, And also to the song without, Torn between the two. I back away from the door, Listening to the song of the wind, And the needles of the pines, Telling me to stay.