Paradise Preserved

Subtle winds, against the skin so cold,
Leafless, towering forests of old.
Along the path a traveler strides,
Cloaked and steady, his time he bides.
To the stone cottage he goes, but he’s not hurried,
For it is beyond the realm of the troubled, and the worried.
By cover of the woods, it’s untroubled by man, and preserves all the comfort and warmth that a small cottage can.
Like it as we may, we cannot yet go,
For we shall not taint it with our troubles and woes.
The trials of life are ours to bear,
But let us be content that the traveler is now there.
He’s taken up the task, as he’s passed through it’s door,
Of tending to the fire, forevermore.