Beside the red warmth of your roaring hearth,
I draw myself up to your friends’ circle
and the firelight dims to blue and purple,
the flickering stories revealed your mirth.
On the avenue of constellations
I walk upon the stars on the pavement,
everyone has a name in the cement,
their gold street of stellar revelations.
There is a home in your soul of contrasts:
I find a virtue in your caverns dark
that shines, a vein of gold within a lark,
some streak of light made you lonely grasses,
where the wild birds would swoop and make their nests
here the poorest peasants make their homes best.