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.