To My Wood Stove

I’d rather say thanks
Let your coals be banked
In defense against
Winters that reach us
Let felines swarm
Your hearth to keep warm
Strutting haughty
and capricious
You stand in your space
Never change a face
Exuding oneness and heat
Times I am rotten
No wood’s gotten
You go cold with
Nothing to eat
Holding no grudge
Your doors always budge
Taking all wood remains
I push you to welter
Like the hot summer swelter
Of which I often complained