For aeons, it seems, have I slept,
Till you happ'd upon my obscure self;
Peering in, you found that solitude
You always yearned for; a quietude.
Lit the hearth and warmed yourself;
Glad was I, kindling had I set in store;
Gladder still, you stayed, and
Warmed yourself, and never, ever left!
21 July, 2007