The smart ones came, said “make a note.”
Know everything, they think it's law.
With such verbosity that shows,
they hiss on always, though declawed.
They say I'm sombre, I excel at
contemplating only Death. Not
true! I'm clear as Life itself,
for thought there's unrelenting
breadth. Here, let me show it's not
complex, this message said in rambling
words: may any artist draw the steps
of painting, and just what occurs.
I want the picture true to life
a dancing fire in the hearth
the door is shut, all warm inside,
both dead and living feel the mirth.
Of ages past we don't dispute:
the comfort we enjoy, quite thorough,
and talk until our voices mute
of our own Time, and what we borrow.
The central fire's most important.
A seat I want not far away,
to stoke and stoke the burning torrent,
in this short night that long will stay.