Candlelight flickers and my quill pen scratches,

The drone of wind through creaking eave assails me.

Glancing at my pocket watch, I begin to realize

That the hour has suddenly grown late.



Removing my suitcoat and spectacles hastily,

I trundle wearily up the drafty staircase.

Down the dark hall with the worn faded carpet,

To my bedroom, feathered in night.



Hanging my cloak by the fireplace mantle,

I find a basin of water for washing my face.

Alone here I put on a robe and a cap,

Closing the shutters to the cold winter air.



Reading my Bible in the dim flicker of flames,

I look toward my ceiling and Heaven to ask,

"I'm thankful to be alive in the future, dear Lord

But what was it like in the past?"