Sitting by my laughing fire

I watch the whitening world without,

and hear the wind climb higher, higher,

rising to a savage shout;

and on my hearth

the logs smile on,

warming me

as they slowly perish;

they had been felled

by ax and saw

while fellow trees

were left to flourish;

but what was spared

by ax and saw,

by some unspoken

cruel law,

was being harvested without

by ice and wind and savage shout.

 

And on my hearth,

the logs smile.

 

From Sitting by My Laughing Fire by Ruth Bell Graham