Fire in the heart of Winter
The grey groan of wind slides even
To the home's warm core, and the old
Dust-choked corpses of the blizzard lie
Scattered. But sparks flicker here
And there- in the ice, above the clouds
In the static sting of the dry air,
The hearth-flames' hungry, eager rush,
The shifting, constant glow the heart holds-
Some fires cycle, but never die.
This one was suggested by aspidites, in response to my post about inspiration. Feel free to comment if you have an idea or a title...