A Cold Stove
I was consumed by memoryAnd a fair amount of discord
I dwelt on substances bright and fiery
But kept wending back to ashes I abhorred
I gathered up a poker and an old sack
And knelt before the kitchen stove
So armed I confronted the pitch black
Stirring many a dead fire, I began to heave and hove
Soon I was pulling out soot and ash
Of fires long ago grown old
I, I thought of when I was rash
And of hot fires now turned cold
Still I thought
One must make room
As ash continued to be caught
From within the deep gloom
That is the difference I could find
Between the stove and heart
The limitless capacity of the mind
For fires and ashes after they depart
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