The Fire
There’s a fire cracking in the hearth- Burning, dancing, twisting, Glowing. The blackening logs hiss with heat, Steaming remnants of water evaporating in flames. And the deep burnt orange of the flickering flames, Glow like an autumn sunset contrasting with the black Of night, or the dark metal of the old, rustic stove. I sit to watch the fire lick up the blackened logs, Warm inside near this heated stove, Away from the blistering cold of the outside.
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