I sit beside the fire and think <br />of all that I have seen, <br />of meadow-flowers and butterflies <br />in summers that have been; <br /> <br />Of yellow leaves and gossamer <br />in autumns that there were, <br />with morning mist and silver sun <br />and wind upon my hair. <br /> <br />I sit beside the fire and think <br />of how the world will be <br />when winter comes without a spring <br />that I shall never see. <br /> <br />For still there are so many things <br />that I have never seen: <br />in every wood in every spring <br />there is a different green. <br /> <br />I sit beside the fire and think <br />of people long ago, <br />and people who will see a world <br />that I shall never know. <br /> <br />But all the while I sit and think <br />of times there were before, <br />I listen for returning feet <br />and voices at the door.<br /><br />John Ronald Reuel Tolkien<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/i-sit-and-think/
