James T. Wray

(Caledon, N. Ireland)


When Winter comes and cold winds blow,
I love to sit by my fire's glow
I love to curl up on my seat,
To feel all snug at my fire's heat. But if the heat is given by coal,
In the ground I see a hole,
And if it's wood that's heating me,
The life's been taken from a tree. If I'm warmed by glowing peat,
Cut to the shape of logs,
All that I can ever see,

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