The fire burning high and bright,
a new companion telling tales,
an old companion at your side,
the night-time calls of whip-poor-wills.

A new companion telling tales,
a mug of tea in warming hands,
all pressure off of cooling heels,
sweet solace from the trail’s demands.

If tea is spiked warms more than hands,
a voice may raise in joke or song,
till eyebrows droop with night-time sands,
the fire smolders low and long.

No more a voice no joke or song,
the fire mere memory of bright,
snores help next leg of hike along,
dreams test the tales tomorrow night.

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