odour of woodsmoke

there is a ghost that hangs about the fire
made out of memories and dead folks' pain
we note it only through our deep desire

on sundays we are loudest in the choir
the better to forget the weekly strain
there is a ghost that hangs about the fire

reminding us that each is still a liar
and nothing that we say is truly plain
we note it only through our deep desire

for what we know the future might acquire
in recollection of the fallen rain
there is a ghost that hangs about the fire

an unquiet air that leads each to perspire
and will negate each moment of our gain
we note it only through our deep desire

upon this mountain we're taught to aspire
where others would with greater sense abstain
there is a ghost that hangs about the fire
we note it only through our deep desire