Night, and I travelling. An open door by the wayside, Throwing out a shaft of warm yellow light. A whiff of peat-smoke; A gleam of delf on the dresser within; A woman's voice crooning, as if to a child. I pass on into the darkness.
A lone traveler walks through the night and pauses at an open door. For a moment, the scene inside is vivid: warm yellow light spills out, the smell of peat smoke drifts from the hearth, and a woman’s voice croons softly, as if soothing a child. There is comfort there, but it is not his.
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