Down a little path… littered with the past –
A forest lies before you – perhaps the very last.
Dark and slightly foggy, you continue on your way,
Until you reach a cottage… glistening as the day.
You enter through the door, take off your heavy coat,
Pour yourself a drink…and write a little note:
“Here is the blazing hearth I have searched for high and low…
There was a wisp of smoke, that brought me to your glow…
You tried to keep it hidden, beneath the forest trees,
But I can see you shining, even crouching on your knees”
The blazing hearth a soul, a fire burning bright.
Burning in the cottage, this foggy quiet night.
“A passer by has seen you – noticed you in sight,
The wisp of smoke a beacon in the dead of night.
Art is never hidden, it appears when it is time,
The soul it may be tortured.. and yet it is sublime”
As you leave the cottage and continue on your way,
See the cottage far now…still glistening as the day,
The note you left is withered, by the heat of that great hearth,
But the hope that lies within it, is now buried in its earth.
© The Secret Poetess