Published on 11/24/16 by atimetoshare.me
This time of year conjures up all kinds of memories of years gone by. I especially remember the warmth of my grandparents’ kitchen. That room, though nothing spectacular, had as its centerpiece an old potbellied, cast iron stove. The smell of oak burning, the sound of a tea pot sizzling, the boots leaving puddles beside it are all reminders of home, security and comfort.
The old iron fortress stood ready and tall within the empty room.
Wood stacked at one side – boots and mittens there dried,
But no one would share in the warmth that it’s belly consumed.
The snow outside glistened, no footprints did lead to the door,
The smoke lifted high to the stars in the sky,
The only one home was an old, tired soul who lay curled up asleep on the floor.
He had worked all day long, chopping wood for the old iron beast.
So he took to the floor, like he had once before,
And fell fast asleep while waiting alone for a fabulous feast.
His dreams soon were shattered by voices that chattered outside,
He rose to his feet. At the door he did meet,
All the friends from his past who long since had gone on and died.
In an instant he knew that heaven had called him to his eternal rest,
This new life that it gave him, would no more enslave him,
The warmth of his Savior was more than the best of the best.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING ❤️