The celestial bodies are shining on high
O’er the glowing, white moor ‘neath the snow-laden sky.
In the midst of the dark by a fiery light
A silhouette sits in the cold winter night.
That traveler’s journey began in the spring,
Like those lively, old forests that suffer and sing.
When the blossoms were blooming and life gurgled forth
And their limbs had not lived in the cold from the north.
In the summer they tumbled through valleys and hills;
Through the grasses and mountains with jubilant thrills.
For their vigorous eyes were alive in the sun,
But the great River Time ceases not in its run.
When the leaves started burning in golden-brown fall,
The journeyer harkened to nature’s old call.
There were people and places that hadn’t been seen,
And a forming nostalgia for woodlands of green.
In the wintery moor near the fireside glow
Where the shine of the stars lights a blanket of snow,
A traveler ponders and wanders their path
Without any sorrow, or envy, or