I Sit Beside the Fire and Think

I sit beside the fire
And think of all that I have seen,
Of meadow flowers and butterflies
In summers that have been.
Of yellow leaves and gossamer
In autumns that there were,
With morning mist and silver sun
And wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire
And think of how the world will be
When winter comes without a spring
That I shall ever see.
For still there are so many things
That I have never seen.
In every wood, in every spring
There is a different green.

I sit beside the fire
And think of people long ago.
And people who will see a world
That I shall never know.
But all the while I sit and think
Of times there were before,
I listen for returning feet
And voices at the door--

J.R.R. Tolkien

(and if among the sounds I hear is the crashing of waves, so much the better.)