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per amica silentia lunae

or, across the ferny brae with the evil voodoo celt


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...