A flame is in my blood


A flame is in my blood
Burning dry life, to the bone.
I do not sing of stone,
Now, I sing of wood.

It is light and coarse:
Made of a single spar,
The oak’s deep heart,
And the fisherman’s oar.

Drive them deep, the piles:
Hammer them in tight,
Around wooden Paradise,
Where everything is light.


1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 5.00 out of 5)

A flame is in my blood