What is that cupped in thy hands hidden?
It throbs, it beats, it weeps unbidden.
What is that banked beside thy fire?
It warms, it radiates, it glows not dire.
What is that shadowed trinket in thy hand?
It gives, it lingers, it loves without demand.
What is that there thee possesses unaware?
It is a heart, a soul, loyal beyond all despair.
8 November 2002 shadowwv