Huddled deep in his borrowed cave, shivering the cold to warmth, arthritic hands groping for the fleeting radiance of yesterday's embers, closing towards death, ancient wrinkles furrowed deep, deep as the plow once pushed through hardened earth dug meager existence perpetuating half starvation, came home to hovel, wattle thatched walls washed away, to the ancient cave of an abandoned god fled, where now resigned silence awaits the reward of permanent cold: to die here, offering for a god, folk-tale told, relapsed worship the deformed fingers clasp last time to course wool pulled tight, the too long extended fire dies.