The fire is out! My cat, curled on a fireside chair, Bestows a green-eyed soft reproach. How long is it that pen in hand, I have been lost in some far land? Already dark! It must have snowed the whole long day. I've let my stove side wood stack dwindle Till nothing's left for even kindle. Where did I put my tall, warm boots? I believe that Life and Time are in cahoots Conspiring against all finished books, Intruding on each writer's dream In some fore-plotted "busy" scheme. So -- supper should have long been cooked? But I have been in fairer climes Where one can thrive on words and rhymes.