By Tom Brown
To me I seem like a scared little boy bravely walking and trudging over ankle deep snow all alone through a quiet deserted frosty wood. In shivering cold courageously plodding and stumbling marching on all on his own. So very afraid but not crying, keeping on and on and forward, keeping heart. Knowing there is a home ahead, he had seen from far away a chimney and smoke and friendliness.
With a snug little coat fur hat hands deep in the pockets under the pine cover green slowly trodding on. In the chill and bleakness through the trees' branches from far he'd seen a home. He knew there is a log cabin ahead, a softly hissing happily crackling fireside. A place to belong. A cosy wooden cottage filled with comfort and care and wild flowers, fresh bread hot soup and warm love.