WATCHING LOGS MELT IN A FIREPLACE

A fire in a fireplace is special.
The flames leap and prance.
Like imps or sprites
They run and dance.

As the sparks and cinders fall
They glow and smile
As one by one they increase
Their soft gray pile.

As the logs and branches burn
My mind wanders
And I begin to yearn
For friends and times now past.

But I watch the smoke
As it twists and curls
And I’m reminded that
We, as men, are like the fire.

Our flames leap and soar
And sometimes light the sky.
We spark and glow
And often nearly fly.

But too soon our time is past
And we quickly disperse,
Rising as smoke,
Becoming one with our Universe.

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