My Pretty Yellow Fire

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Oh pretty yellow fire
Alack! You weary
Ultimately you tire
Oh pretty yellow fire
My pretty fire danced with splendor
Raging wind, was like cheering crowd
My pretty fire combusted with beauteous vigor
That though on her dirt was thrown
Like hailing lads dusts were blown
Who can quench her flame, I questioned
Found not a name, I boasted
Her name, each time was mentioned
I in swollen pride floated
Little did I know
Little? No not one bit!
Clues from elders’ whistle
Left not one hint
That what iceberg once did, love to sink
It would repeat in history’s ink
Are the gods to blame that did not speak?
Or I to blame that did not seek?
Who’s fault it is is not the peak
The truth remains, her flame grew weak

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Shalom Dickson

February 2016

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