Classic Poem

I have tried sitting close to the fire
I have tried wine until my head left me
But I live in a house that is cold
And everything in it is cold
And no matter how many fires are lit
There is always a corner ready to give up
One more frozen thing.

The only thing that is alive in my house
And lit and warm is my head
And that nods like the candle flame
Over an old man's shoulder.


I sat very still
But I heard only the quiet hushed sound of wind
Coming through the forest
Like the light feet of dead people.
I looked a long time before me
And about me
And behind me
And I could see nothing
But the slight motion of leaves and branches
Parted to let something pass.
I bowed my head thinking
Asking myself questions —
Why are the feet of dead people light and restless
Whom do they follow on their long march
Do they rest when I rest
Are they gay when I am gay
Do they grieve when I grieve
Will they still be coming through the forest
On light restless feet
When I no longer come to the forest?