The Flame

Words are silent things,
Unloosed in memory's store.
As I clasped the yellowed bits of lace,
And to the fire-place bore.

Licking red...like serpent tongue,
Replenishment to blame.
The fragments of a cherished dream,
I laid upon the flame.

Through tiny sheens of yester-year,
I watched the embers glow.
As smiling faces beckoned me,
From out the long ago.

T'was hours after midnight,
Before I moved about.
Darkness draped across the room,
Told me...the show was out.


E.P. 1908 - 1989