In the chill of the evening, the twilight sighs, My bones whisper tales of decline. This timeworn cabin, under vast, darkened skies, Feels the embrace of the cold wind's whine.
Another log on the fire, its life to expire, Smoke dances into the night so sheer. The last of the wood, laid with solemn desire, A path forward, at last, seems clear.
Dawn will break with the mountain aglow, Snow-capped and silent, a pure, white crown. Here my body shall rest, in the earth below, While my spirit ascends, where no sorrows are known.
No longer to shiver, nor feel the old's icy hold, My new abode shines, a vision so bold. Not of timber or stone, but of light, pure and gold, In the warmth of the heavens, forever enrolled.
