Three Stages of a Fire

I A spark is shot Deftly, from between two fingers. It sits, wavering on its bed Like a lone star Against the black, Cold coals. Chuckling, a candle flame shows Its little golden head. Sleepily, it reaches for its mother And she, flickering, crackles her tongue As the scorching hand upon her breast grows And spreads. Curious and hungry, flamma explorat. II A fire is mature, suddenly Superior. Its arms extend, It works, briskly it burns. Like a tiger It inhabits its cage. Laughing, a blaze rises To greet a brittle friend. For another And another Blaze yearns. Alas! Any tears would hiss If the glowing cheeks reminisced a kiss. It is Love The Fuel on which its life depends. Selfish and beautiful, flamma vivat! III The embers sift, tenderly Nursing the staggering Foolish old flame Who must be coaxed to nibble and feed. No light livens the hearth, haunted now, Merely shadows. In faded fame, amidst dusty fortune The patient lies. And it ponders as all its dazzle dies Who taught me to hate? Was it lack of love or lack of life That finally dampened my fanciful play? Slowly, Painfully, The gargoyle face is smothered in ash, The soft powder of its parents fate. And death waits Eerily Still Until another is born in the grate. Tired and lonely, flamma extinguet.