The gleaming pool reflects past years
That spill and fall in burning tears,
Extinguishing the light in shame.
Yet Amidst the smoke remains,
Clinging life, a single flame.
No waxy grave. . . still not a tomb.
Few specs gone mad ignite the room
And consume all but myself alone
Because Hope through fire lights my way.
My burns the price that Hope must pay.
To nothing stripped, though weak, I stand.
The ashes cold against my hand.
But laugh! for thankful still I am.