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by der hofnarr
I sit alone out under the sky
While the flames of my fire flicker and try
To encircle the wood in a gentle embrace
And then at last to completely erase
All shape or form the wood may have had
Leaving glowing embers scantily clad
With a rosy tinge that will quickly fade...
What, of the wood, has the fire made?
Home - Writing - Guest Poetry | Mail Hal C F Astell - Site Map |