A Secret Place
Marjorie Bettcher
There's a cabin crouched in the mountains,
Windowsills deep in snow;
A secret place hidden away...
A place only God and I know.
A trackless hideaway lost from the world;
A cottage without any street;
A tiny bit of the world tucked away
Beneath a blanket of snow and sleet.
Wrapped in a crystalline coverlet,
Clasped in the arms of the night;
Where moonlight shivers in silver pools
And pines glisten silver white.
Where winter reigns, tranquil and lovely,
Spreading her silver snare...
Seizing, enfolding, possessing,
Dropping beauty everywhere.
There's the hush of falling snowflakes,
The noiseless hoofbeat of deer,
The voiceless call of serenity
And the whispering wind I hear.
There are windows blinking and glowing
Like friendly eyes in the night.
There's a curl of smoke from the chimney
That seems to beckon ...to invite.
It's my own little world of contentment;
A tiny patch of rest and peace
Where pine logs glow at midnight
And the cares of the world cease.
There's a soft rug in front of the fireplace,
And shadowy fingers of firelight
Make pictures on the wall
In the stillness of the night.
The soft rug is torn and rather worn,
The furniture shabby and threadbare,
But it's comfortable with a friendly feeling,
Who cares if it needs repair?
There's a stack of wood by the fireplace
And more just outside the door;
There's an old wood stove in the kitchen,
Cozy and warm to the core.
Just to lie upon the rug by the fire
With that book I'll read someday,
And think of nothing...nothing at all,
Watching embers as thoughts fade away.
Oh, to be snug and drowse by the fire
As winter builds the world anew,
Carving a dazzling wonderland,
Hiding the old from view.
The only sound is the wind's song
As it whispers its prayer to the pine.
Oh, to be lulled to sleep by the wind's song
As I whisper a prayer of mine.
