An elderly lady in a farmhouse lay,
Surrounded by snowdrifts, several storms had passed her way,

No winter fuel for the week had been delivered,
The fire had died out and she worried, prayed and shivered,

As the sun began to set she thought she heard a rustling sound,
That of someone crumpling paper and laying firewood down,

Soon, she heard the sound of a wood stove drawing,
Her heart leapt inside her as she sensed the fire was thawing

The iciness of feeling all alone and cold and old,
Something had given her a gift worth more than gold,

The morning showed no traces of an evening visitation,
But the lady knew for certain whence had come her salvation.

                                                          by D. Edgar Murray