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Not long ago the fire burned high and strong
And warmed us both within its blazing light;
A conflagrated pyre that for so long
Held back the gloomy shadows of the night.
But then the fire began to slowly fade
And sink, the crackling logs charred, broke apart
Beneath their own weight; for a time we stayed
And huddled close for warmth. I tried to start
The fire again, to bank the coals and keep
Alive the glowing, winking embers, yet
The flame at last surrendered into sleep,
And scattered ashes mock the fire we set.
Like cinders on the bitter wind we blow
And drift away, not knowing where we go.
© 1994 by J. M. Pressley
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