Poem By James T. Wray

When Winter comes and cold winds blow,
I love to sit by my fire's glow
I love to curl up on my seat,
To feel all snug at my fire's heat. But if the heat is given by coal,
In the ground I see a hole,
And if it's wood that's heating me,
The life's been taken from a tree. If I'm warmed by glowing peat,
Cut to the shape of logs,
All that I can ever see,
Is the shrinking of our bogs. And if my heat it comes from oil,
Which was stored beneath Earth's soil,
Still my heart is full of fears,
To put it there took a million years. But just before my heart it sank,
I try to make my mind go blank,
For like the rest I like the best,
So my conscience I will not test. So I sit at my fire, brave and bold,
Anything's better that the feel of cold,
So you see, that's the type of me,
I keep warm with electricity. It's not as bad as an open fire,
For all the heat comes down a wire,
So now you here, my conscience is clear,
I'll just keep warm till Summer's here. For then I'll come to no great harm,
For the Summer's air is nice and warm
But then my fears they do unfold,
What about next Winter's cold,
I think you know I've hit a plan,
I'll simply blame it, on our coalman.

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