The Glowing Hearth
It is not in the spark that starts the fire, But in the coals that glow through winter’s night, That true devotion builds its one desire, To keep the hearth of shared existence bright. Through seasons changing, turning gold to gray, Our hands remain a fortress and a home, A quiet vow that strengthens day by day, No matter where the wandering path may roam. Like ancient roots beneath a weathering tree, My love holds fast, anchoring me to thee.
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