A Waking Flame
For my forever friend, Ash
A shaft of rippling light there lies And falling bright from fire-lit skies Pierces cold and weary eyes It lifts, like waking flame.
A shaft of rippling light there lies And falling bright from fire-lit skies Pierces cold and weary eyes It lifts, like waking flame.
A rose like burnished gold there grows
With petals white like fallen snows
And softly, sweetest scent there blows
From it, like waking flame.
A drop of liquid fire there forms
And trembling bright through icy storms
It lasts and does not freeze, but forms
A tear, like waking flame.
A cup of molded ash there stands
All polished white with twisting bands
Of gold wrapped ‘round – and in it lands
The drop, like waking flame.
A moment soft there passes here
And as we watch the fallen tear
A pang like hope and joy and fear
Strikes us, like waking flame.
A glimmer grows from shadows deep
As from the depths of dark dost leap
A ringing call – it brings from sleep
The world, like waking flame.
A leaf of waving fire is spread
From deepest dark. Enamoréd
Our hearts do leap, which once were dead
To soar, like waking flame.
A waking whisper from the flame
Erects itself and forms a frame
Of fire and ash – we hear its name
Called out from waking flame.
A robe of fire is wreathing round
The figure. Now she steps to ground
And with a voice like thunder-sound
She says: “Ash is my name.”
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