Pungent smoke hangs heavy, caught tight inside the bitter cold.
Wood burned red hot, loses its blistered heat.
Sweet thoughts of times gone by, are held inside the fragrant scent of burning pine.
Suspended in the ringlets, locked frozen in the winter harshness,
crackling logs bring recollections of autumn days and summer eves.
The scents and senses of childhood joys and friendships lost.
A wisp of wind spirals the perfume of melancholy memories away.
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