Snow, feet deep atop the
mountain,
not yet melted with the rising sun
Yet blooming buds of trees and flowers
Above the green grass of dead things gone
Where fire burns red and bright
Atop the browning perch
Where people sit and warm
And stare to the burning embers bright
The veins glowing orange with flame great and large
The smoke and ash burning within
Eyes burn light, teardrops falling
Yet continuance of sitting, calling
Yet blooming buds of trees and flowers
Above the green grass of dead things gone
Where fire burns red and bright
Atop the browning perch
Where people sit and warm
And stare to the burning embers bright
The veins glowing orange with flame great and large
The smoke and ash burning within
Eyes burn light, teardrops falling
Yet continuance of sitting, calling
By: Elizabeth Luther
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