A Hymn of Contentment

We hold ourselves together,
Containing our contentment
As foragers tend a hearth,
To warn away predators
And to keep the cold at bay.

Satisfaction can’t be learned.
It’s pleasure to warm our hands.
We’re cautious not to be burnt.

Our contentment is fragrant.
It wanders into the air.
It clings to the skin and hair.
It is small, yes. It could die.

But it is our fire
And almost alive.