(August 4th,1926 / New York City)

The Fireplace

The fireplace is such a world.
You can sit for hours and never soil.
There in the flames that leap so strong.
Slowly they can play out one's life song.
Lost in the blue that caresses the logs.
There by an ash, the world that was lost.
Over by a twig a flame burns bright.
Capturing the thoughts of another night.
There by the orange the sun was awoken.
A day filled with love and words unspoken.
All through the time that it does burn.
Heaven is written in the house of the flame.
Placing more logs on a fire to light.
Making dreams that run through your sight.
Plans of tomorrow they will never end.
The fireplace is such that it makes people bend.
The power is soft, yet just and right.
When logs are dry the embers are bright.
Sleep usually enters through a gentle window.
When the last sparks fly from a dying bellow.

copyright 1975 POEWHIT
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Comments (2)

Stanley, very fun poem! Loved the line ' forget what I've forgot'. I did think the next to last stanza was clunky, though, and it stands out that you've used 'with' to rhyme with 'with' (ugh, I won't try saying that again!) - chuck
Stanley, this really good funny stuff.