Poem By Sean “Twig” Follett
That fire,
Which never burns out,
Which yet burns low,
Which Flickers out,
Yet there remains
always beneath the ashes.
Embers
Which smolder and wait,
for one to bring,
Dry twigs and wood.
Red-hot embers,
dreaming of becoming
a fizzling, crackling fire
Once more.
And such is the fire,
burning within ourselves.