The Man

Water drip dropping from roof to earth,
Fire blowing wildly in the hearth.
Wood burning up in the blaze,
Wind outside beckons in a haze.

The atmosphere outside looks gray,
Near the ocean where water doth spray.
Trees around this cottage home,
Soaking in the wet, soft loam.

Inside the house by the fire built,
Lies a dog, free of guilt.
Next to the dog in a tall backed chair,
Is a man, towards his books he doth stare.

On this particularly windy night,
A very cold chill did suddenly ignite.
A small, small spark of valor in his eye,
So he grabbed a paper and pen nearby.

On this paper with his pen,
In the warmth of his private den.
He wrote a book of all he felt,
All he saw, all he smelt.

And on that paper he wrote a rhyme,
Using up ink that cost a dime.
This rhyme is defiantly good to note,
So I will tell you just what he wrote.