One by one, the wood ignited
into a dazzling display of luminous
red, lustrous orange and candescent
gold. After time, the kindle at the
heart of the fire began to turn to
ash and charcoal, leaving only a
pile of burnt wood, silver dust
and glowing red embers. The
hearth in the centre of the
room no longer contained
a tricolour flame.
YOU ARE READING
winter fire, january embers; poetry
PoetryDecided to give poetry a shot, none of it will be any good :*
