I sit beside the fire and think of all that i have seen
of meadow flowers and butterflies
and summers that have been
i sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be
when winter comes without a spring
that i shall never see
for still there are so many things that i have never seen
in every wood
in every spring
there is a different green
i sit beside the fire and think of people long ago
and people who will see your world
that i shall never know
for still there are so many things that i have never seen
in every wood
in every spring
there is a different green
but all the while i sit and think of times there were before
i listen for returning feet and voices at the door
