The winter time’s looked on by gardeners with dread

The sun’s rays have weakened; it’s bitter instead

It’s then you appreciate having a shed

A retreat that warmer and drier

To sit by a log burning fire.

 

When temperatures fall into minus degrees

And frost hangs like glitter on evergreen trees

And ice in your water butt’s sign of the freeze

Then nothing compares to, by Jove,

To sit by a log burning stove.

 

Your working day ends cos of darkness at four

In fairness you don’t fancy doing much more

It’s then that the welcoming warmth of the door

Of the shed begins to conspire

With the pull of the log burning fire.

 

The toes in your boots might be tingling and numb

With little sensation in finger and thumb

And some might seek comfort in tots of hot rum

But nothing’s more welcome to you

Than warming gloved hands on its flue.

 

The flames through the glass seem to flicker and flow

Succumbing to embers with hypnotic glow;

Tomorrow, perhaps, you’ll dig more. But, Hell no!

I’m kidding myself. I’m a liar.

I’ll sit and I’ll doze by my fire.

 

You’ve heard your mam tell you, “Wrap up for the cold.

And keep your back covered – you’ll know when you’re old”

Advice all worth taking, but this is pure gold –

Despite cold weather attire,

There’s nowt beats a log burning fire.