In fall, winter, and early spring,
grey plumes of smoke
sometimes twist and wring,
so for fun in the home,
we sit by the stove,
fully embraced and heated
in a peaceful trove.
How many fires, has this home seen?
How many mires, this home gave lean?
A crackle here, a sudden pitch pop, the scent of alder,
all in a shot; many days I have been away,
in my mind’s eye, this day I sought.
Oh, give me days of heavy rain,
send me waves of levy wane, so in this place,
I may unhurriedly enjoy a healing, Finnish heat,
a warm reminder of life’s kinder feat.
Born in this valley
or come here freight—
know we are gifted now—
let our cares abate.
